Gundam SEED: Jupiter's Dawn
by Juubi-K
Summary: It is CE 73, and the Earth Alliance is on the verge of collapse as the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia square off. A ship arrives from Jupiter, seeking to know the fate of humanity.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreword**

**I dedicate this to Zaru, Asmus, and Maderfole, without whom this fic would not be half of what it is now. Also Wing Zero Alpha, for your kind advice. **

**Gundam SEED, Jupiter's Dawn**

**A Gundam SEED fanfiction by Juubi-K**

**Chapter One**

_**After one and a half years of fighting, the so-called 'Bloody Valentine' War was brought to an end in year 72 of the Cosmic Era. Amid the ruins of Junius Seven, a place of unparalleled tragedy, the former enemies pledged to work for mutual understanding, and to make every effort possible to maintain peace. As a result, the Earth was once more on the path of stability. **_

_**Or so it seemed.**_

_**Under the united front presented by the Earth Alliance, old quarrels began to resurface. The most significant was the conflict between the Atlantic and Eurasian Federations, the largest and most powerful members. Despite the best efforts of peacemakers and conciliators on both sides, mutual fear, suspicion and hatred threatened to tear the Earth Alliance apart. The breaking of one scandal after another, as the misdeeds of the Atlantic Federation towards its allies were made public, served to sabotage efforts at reconciliation.**_

_**By the year 74 of the Cosmic Era, relations between the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia were on the verge of total collapse. Cagalli Yula Athha, Chief Representative of the Orb Union, made a last, desperate effort to halt the oncoming cataclysm. But as history has shown so many times, the power of one is finite indeed. **_

_**Now**_

_**Armoury One PLANT, Lagrange 4, October 2nd, CE 73. **_

Alex Dino, otherwise known as Athrun Zala, was trying not to be nervous.

He had never expected to return to PLANT, not after all that had happened. Not even under the name he had been given when he left, along with his Orb Union citizenship papers and a warning of what would likely happen to him if he ever returned.

And yet there he was, drifting along a transit tube into the main terminal of the Armoury One spaceport. Ahead of him were two purple-uniformed ZAFT staff officers, behind him were officials and aides of the Chief Representative's staff.

And beside him was the Chief Representative herself.

Cagalli Yula Athha, Chief Representative of the Orb Union and head of the noble house of Athha, floated beside and a little to his front, one small hand clutching the handle of the travel rail as it pulled her along. Her blonde hair was in its usual style, casually spiky, reaching just above her shoulders. Bronze eyes stared intently ahead, and even through the dark glasses that barely concealed his features, Athrun could see the turmoil within them. Her petite body was clad in the formal attire of an Orb government minister, consisting of purple trousers, white jacket, and a shorter purple open-fronted jacket that matched the trousers. Athrun sighed.

"Don't tell me that's all you've got to wear," he said, just loudly enough for her to hear him. "Tell me you brought at least one dress."

"What does it matter what I wear!" Cagalli demanded, half-turning her head to glance angrily at him. "This is good enough, right!"

"At times like this, a little bit of acting never hurts." Athrun signed again when he saw the look she was giving him. "Look, don't pretend to be something you're not, but you don't want them to take you lightly either."

That was the biggest problem Cagalli faced. She might be the hereditary Head of State, trained for the role for much of her life, but she had come to the post long before her time, and not under the best of circumstances. It was hard for experienced elder statesmen to take her seriously. Athrun did not want to admit it, but her personality did not help. She was brutally honest and easily angered.

"Even though this is an unofficial visit," he went on, drawing alongside her. "Never forget that you're the ruler of Orb."

He saw her eyes up close, and saw the uncertainty that lurked under her hard visage. There were times when he wished she could show the world her other self, her softer, gentler self. The self she had shown him, and only him.

But now was not the time.

The travel rail carried them over one of the terminals. The floor was crammed with people, queuing at the check-in desks or else standing or sitting around. Athrun could hear snatches of their conversations as they passed.

"What kind of ship is that, daddy?"

"I guess it's necessary."

"Oh yeah! We'll show it off to those damn Naturals!"

Athrun felt his stomach churn.

The journey from the spaceport to the Military HQ, from which the Colony was governed, took less than an hour. It consisted of a quick elevator ride along the colony's central pylon, after which they were transferred to an enclosed elecar to take them the rest of the way. Upon arrival they were brought to the main meeting room, which was generally used for such functions. As the door slid open, the room was revealed to be large and airy, with a long gallery window offering an excellent view of the colony hemisphere.

Gilbert Durandal, Chairman of the Supreme Council, Head of State of the People's Liberation Action Nation of Technology, stood waiting to greet them.

He was an impressive sight, as much so in the flesh as on the screens. His face was well-proportioned, with high cheekbones and narrow, almost vulpine eyes. They were coloured gold, a not-uncommon colour among coordinators. A mane of black hair hung from his high forehead, hanging over his face and spilling around his shoulders. He wore an unmarked white version of the ZAFT officer's uniform, covered by white coat with purple and black facings.

"Princess!" Durandal smiled, his eyes sparkling as he spread his arms in a gesture of welcome. "I am Supreme Council Chairman Gilbert Durandal. It is my honour to welcome you to the People's Liberation Action Nation of Technology.

"Chairman Durandal." Cagalli shook his proffered hand. "Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice. I understand it must have caused you great inconvenience."

"How are things in your homeland?" Durandal gestured to a pair of chairs, placed strategically by the window. Cagalli sat in one, and Durandal in the opposite, their respective followers gathering behind them.

"I understand that since you became Chief Representative, a great many problems have been resolved," Durandal went on, his tone oozing charm and sincerity. "As an ally and friend I am delighted, and more than a little jealous."

"There's still a lot of work to be done," Cagalli replied, self-effacingly.

"Yes. And under those circumstances, I cannot help but wonder what would be so urgent that you would rush out here at such short notice. Our ambassador has told me that you wish to discuss some complex issues with us."

"Personally," Cagalli retorted, "I don't consider them complex. The main issue is the breakdown in relations between the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia. Not only have you failed to state the PLANTs position openly, but you have engaged in actions that can only be interpreted as encouraging the split. At the beginning of this year you personally approved a program of military reform and expansion, making use of human and technological resources that left Orb during the Atlantic Federation's invasion."

"I will not deny that we are engaging in a revamp of ZAFT," Durandal replied, apparently unruffled by Cagalli's tone. "Forgive me, but I fail to see your point as to how this is exacerbating the problem."

"As I said, it's not complex!" Cagalli's eyes flashed, and her aides looked nervous. "You're rearming ZAFT while the Earth Alliance is falling apart! There's only one way the nations of Earth can interpret that! Don't you realise you're making a war _more_ likely!" A shiver ran through the room. Athrun wondered if any of the purple-coated staff officers behind Durandal would say anything. The man himself seemed entirely unconcerned. His demeanour was of someone dealing graciously with a difficult child.

"I can understand your point of view, Princess. I have no doubt that the Atlantic Federation is making life difficult for you at the moment, a state of affairs that must be especially unsettling considering your nation's…_history_ with that particular superpower."

"There's another issue," Cagalli went on, letting Durandal's levity pass. "They not only accused Orb of assisting in your rearmament, they also accused both us and ZAFT of sending military personnel to Great Britain, with a view to assisting the secessionist movement. What have you to say to that, Chairman?" Durandal's eyes widened a little in magisterial surprise.

"Very little I'm afraid, Princess. While I cannot deny that some PLANT citizens have seen fit to involve themselves in that particular contention, I am hardly in a position to stop them." His eyes sparkled. "Or do you suggest I forbid our citizens to travel on the basis of where they might go?"

"Don't condescend to me!" Cagalli snapped, her fury sending another shiver through the assembled functionaries. "You know that the Atlantic Federation will respond to any attempt at secession with armed force! If that happens the Eurasians will deploy their own forces, and you know as well as anyone what could happen!"

Athrun knew what would happen. He knew what could happen when two military forces, both of them mutually mistrustful, were put in close proximity. The fact that fighting would be going on not far away would only serve to heighten tensions.

All it needed was one mistake, one misunderstanding, one quivering finger to slip. The shot would be heard around the world. It might be the last thing the world ever heard.

* * *

The Armoury One colony was an armoury in many senses of the word. It was a place where weapons were stored, where weapons were built, and where soldiers practiced with weapons. It was intended from its conception to be capable of designing, building, and supporting anything from small arms to warships.

The population of Armoury One was about three hundred thousand, of which just less than one quarter were active members of ZAFT in one capacity or another. The soldiers, researchers, engineers and bureaucrats were expected to reside on Armoury One indefinitely, and as such had brought their families with them. As a result, the military bases were surrounded with residential areas, and all the amenities and amusements that accompanied them.

As such, it was by no means strange for a young girl to be staring into a shop window on a bright and sunny day.

Of course, the days were _always_ bright and sunny, one of the advantages of living in a colony. Like most colonies, Armoury One also came with 'green belt' zones, great public parks with grass, trees, and even flowers. This was not simply to make living in the PLANT more pleasant, but to help maintain the quality of the air. The PLANT even included large bodies of water, amounting to small seas, to create an approximation of the Earth's water cycle. In some respects, life on a colony was actually superior in quality to life in some regions of Earth.

The girl twirled on the spot, her skirt and sleeves billowing. She stopped, staring down at her feet, as if admiring her shoes. Her two companions, both young men of about the same age, glanced back at her.

"What's she doing back there?" asked blue-haired Auel Neider.

"Acting like a merry fool," replied green-haired Sting Oakley, amused by the girl's antics. "Why don't you give it a try? You might like it."

The girl leaned in closer to the window, seemingly entranced by her reflection. There was the familiar blonde hair reaching to her chin, the bright maroon eyes, and the round, somewhat child-like face.

Stella Loussier giggled, pleased by her prettiness. Her spirit soared, and she began to twirl along the street, arms spread wide. She laughed as she span, revelling in the simple joy of it.

And then she hit someone.

She felt her back strike something, and she knew that something to be a person, because it grunted in surprise. Its arms came around her, holding her steady, the hands closing over her breasts.

"Are you all right?" The voice was young, male. As the momentary surprise wore off, Stella turned her head to look at him. She saw a handsome, somewhat boyish face framed with black hair, wearing a look of mild surprise. His red eyes were wide.

Stella's face twisted in irritation, her good humour lost. She broke away from the bewildered youth and ran off down the street. The boy stared after her, wondering what he had done wrong.

"You grabbed her rack, didn't you?" sneered his companion, leaning forward to leer at him.

"Huh!" Shinn Asuka looked down at his hands, only then realising just where they had gone. His face reddened with embarrassment.

"You lucky pervert," Yolant Kent mocked. The dark-skinned youth gave Shinn a dismissive flap of his hand as he strolled away.

"I didn't! Really! _Yolant_!" Shinn bent down to repack his dropped shopping bag, then hurried after his friend, protesting his innocence all the way down the street.

The military base was a scene of organized chaos. Everywhere Athrun looked, there were people at work. The vast majority wore the green uniforms of ZAFT enlisted personnel, along with a few subaltern officers in black, and some Mobile Suit pilots in red.

Things had changed since he was a soldier of ZAFT. Changing the colour-coding system had been only one of many reforms Durandal had pushed through since coming to power a year earlier. Though sold to the public as little more than tidying-up exercises, the reforms had provoked controversy at all levels of PLANT society. Athrun had noted, with some distaste, how the Chairman had dealt with those who resisted his policies.

"You are a woman of courage, Princess." Durandal led the way down the open space between two lines of Mobile Suit hangars. Cagalli walked next to him, Athrun behind, while the Chairman's bodyguards formed a loose cordon. "And you know what it's like to pilot a Mobile Suit in battle."

The talk of Mobile Suits drew Athrun's attention to the machines themselves. He recognized all of them, for he had kept himself abreast of such developments, but some were more familiar than others. There were plenty of GINNs about, though even _Jane's Mobile Weapons_ was calling them old hat. He could see GuAIZes, successors to the GINN with the same distinctive head crest. There were one or two DINNs, and an enormous yellow-painted GAZuOOT that looked as if it could take on an army by itself.

"You are also the successor to Lord Uzumi Nara Athha," Durandal went on. "Who refused to bow to pressure, following his nation's ideal to the very end." The Chairman stopped suddenly, turning to face his guest.

"So how should we act, given the current situation? I'm sure you know the answer to that very well."

Athrun knew what Durandal's answer would have been. The evidence was in the hangar to his right. It was tall and muscular-looking, painted green but for the torso which was painted black. One shoulder was covered by a rounded pauldron, crowned with an upward-curving horn. It had a squat bullet head, with an overbearing brow and a protuberant thermal-exhaust grille, putting Athrun in mind of a soldier wearing a gas mask. He gritted his teeth.

ZGMF-1000 ZAKU _Warrior_. ZAFT's new mass-production Mobile Suit.

"We will protect and maintain the ideals of our nation," Cagalli replied gravely, and Athrun knew she meant every word.

"We will not attack another nation," Durandal spoke with the same gravity as he recited Orb's founding creed. "We will not allow another nation to attack us, and we will not intervene in the conflicts of other nations."

"That's right."

"Then our ideals are the same." Durandal gave her a smile of heart-melting sincerity. "If possible, that would be the best way. But it is _not _possible without power. I'm sure you can understand this, Princess. The best course for both our nations is to remain aloof, but in order to maintain our neutrality we both need military power. Is that not why Orb retains full military capabilities?"

"Please do me a favour and stop calling me Princess." To Athrun's relief, Cagalli made the request with a degree of good grace.

"_Chief Representative_ Athha." Durandal bowed in apparent repentance. "Please forgive me." They walked on in silence for a few moments.

"But I must wonder, _Chief Representative,_" Durandal broke the silence. "What exactly are you afraid of? Of course you are under pressure from the Atlantic Federation, though their accusations are completely unreasonable. The refugees we took in from Orb had to make a living somehow, as I'm sure you understand. But it occurs to me, Chief Representative, that you must be used to such behaviour by now. Is it something else?"

"What _bother_s me," Cagalli retorted, halting and rounding on the Chairman, "is that you insist on rearming ZAFT at a time like this." She was not shouting, but there was a definite edge to her voice. "And you're right, there is something else. You can tell me about the ship."

That made the Chairman's coterie of flunkies _very_ nervous, and Athrun could have sworn he saw a flicker of something in Durandal's eyes. Was it surprise? Or was it amusement?

"I would be happy to show you around the _Minerva_, if…"  
"_The ship_!" Cagalli pressed, barely keeping herself from shouting. "And don't try to tell me you haven't seen it!" There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Yes, Chief Representative, we have seen it," Durandal admitted with feigned reluctance. "ZAFT's long-range telescopes spotted it passing Mars eight months ago, and I suspect the DSSD has known about it for even longer. Quite an interesting development."

Interesting was not the word Athrun would have used. He remembered the look on Cagalli's face when the Sahaku twins had so _politely_ informed her of what the telescope on their space station had spotted. Orb's government had run around like headless chickens, wondering whether the mysterious ship from beyond Mars was hostile, and whether they should admit it to the public. It had taken Cagalli a great deal of table-thumping, harsh words, and banging-together of heads, literally in some cases, to regain control.

It had saddened Athrun. It had reminded him of how different things had been only a few years earlier. Then, back when he was a young boy full of hope and dreams, he would have been blown away by the news. It would have been a cause for excitement, maybe even for joy.

Before Junius Seven.

Before the Bloody Valentine.

"Well then," Cagalli would not let up. "What do you know about it?"

The world exploded.

* * *

There was no stealth in space.

The idea had arisen towards the end of the twentieth century, during the so-called Cold War. Someone had realised that if an aircraft was the right shape, then the radiation emitted by the comparatively primitive sensors of the time could be deflected in various directions, ensuring that relatively little made it back to the sensor. The idea was that the computer tasked with interpreting what the sensor told it would interpret it as something too small to be of note.

In practice it had been a little more complicated than that. As often as not sensors might notice a stealth aircraft approaching, but be unable to precisely ascertain where the aircraft was. There would be little the sensor's operators could do, save telling their own aircraft approximately where to look.

But radar had gotten more sophisticated, able to detect objects by means other than reflected radiation. Despite the best efforts of its advocates, 21st century stealth technology had been unable to keep up. By the Cosmic Era, combat aircraft had abandoned the stealth approach the way European knights had abandoned plate armour. It was expensive, limiting, and not fit for purpose.

And space offered even less scope. That which could not be seen with the naked eye could turn up on scanners. That which could somehow avoid the naked eye _and_ scanners would be betrayed by the laws of thermodynamics. The only way around that was to keep the heat inside, which was perfectly doable, if roasting the crew alive was not a problem.

There was no stealth in space.

So Neo Roanoke thought, sitting in his acceleration chair on the bridge of the _Girty Lue_. The open viewport in front of him offered a panoramic view of Lagrange 4**, **dominated by the massive hourglass shape of the Armoury One PLANT. His breath misted on his helmet visor, reminding him of where he was, and what he was about to do.

The _Girty Lue_ was several thousand kilometres away from Armoury One. Any closer and it would likely have been detected, even with the Mirage Colloid rendering visual and radar identification impossible. The reactor was dialled down to subcritical, the life support systems had been switched off, and the only propulsion was provided by gas canisters set on gantries either side of the main hull. Even so, they had been forced to hide the thermal signature as best they could. They had approached via a commonly-used transit lane, the expended radiation making them less noticeable, and the starting position was sunward of Armoury One.

Even with all that, they were living on hope. Hope that they had gotten their signature just low enough that it might not be noticed. Hope that the ZAFT personnel currently on duty would be just a _little_ less cautious than was necessary. The latter was not completely unreasonable, for there was no way ZAFT could know of _Girty Lue_'s existence or capabilities, this mission being its first.

Hope that they would make it to the critical stage of the mission before the Colloid's exotic particles flaked away, or his suit's battery ran out. The ship's batteries would allow it to perform its functions without the reactor, as it was currently doing, but only for a limited time. Sooner or later they would have to restart the reactor, a process that could not be stopped once it had started. Once they started, they were committed. It was a call _he_ was going to have to make.

He checked his watch.

"Conn, Scope," came a voice over his helmet comm. "The party's started."

"Understood." Neo glanced to his right, to where the _Girty Lue_'s Captain sat in an identical chair. But the Captain had heard, and was already giving the orders. Neo felt a shudder through the deck as the _Girty_ _Lue_ shifted, aiming itself onto a trajectory that would take it within a few hundred kilometres of Armoury One. They would not, _dared_ not, stop for anything or anyone.

Phantom Pain had only one penalty for failure.

* * *

It began with the howling of alarms.

The beginning was also an ending. The end of a chain of events that had begun a few hours earlier. It ended with two NCOs, who they were showing three prospective recruits the new concept models on behalf of a well-connected ZAFT higher-up. They were the first to die, never knowing that the impressive-looking credentials had been acquired care of a ZAFT commander who had been dead for three weeks. Nor had they more than a momentary inkling of what that 'cute little blonde' could do with a knife.

Out of everyone else in the high-security hangar, only one had not died straight away. As the three prototype Mobile Suits had strode towards the hangar doors, the last survivor managed to hit the alarm button.

A few seconds later, the alarms were complemented by the hissing of particle beams.

And the explosions.

Athrun pushed Cagalli to the ground, throwing himself on top of her as they fell. They landed behind a nearby staff car, but he could still feel the blast wave wash over him, hot and dry on his skin. He got up on his haunches, allowing Cagalli to pull herself up, and glanced towards Durandal, who was being helped up by his bodyguards.

"_Chaos_! _Gaia_! _Abyss_!" yelled a voice from nearby.

Then Athrun saw them.

Despite everything, Athrun could not help but be impressed by Mobile Suits. They were the Coordinator nation's gift to military history, the manifestation of a people's desire to stamp their identity on the art of war. They had made a weapon out of a concept dubbed impracticable, a mighty deed to prove their superiority to Naturals and their hide-bound thinking. They were war made manifest, a testament to the psychological power of the human form, a reversal of the dichotomy of human and machine.

The three standing nearby were new models, painted blue, green, and black respectively. Athrun did not recognize the configurations. He supposed they must be concept models, test beds for new ideas and technologies, a means by which ZAFT could see what it was capable of designing and building. There would be a few surprises bound up in their armoured forms.

The green one strode forward. The blue one broke right, rushing away with blazing jets. The black one headed left, starting with a flying leap. But unlike its blue counterpart, the black one began to change, its torso rotating and limbs folding as it came down. It landed in a quadruped configuration, the canine shape reminding Athrun of ZAFT's BcCue Mobile Suit. It galloped towards a nearby hangar, the beam rifle at its flank spitting green particle bolts through the open door. The bolts tore into the stationary mobile suits, blasting open their armoured torsos and detonating their batteries. The blue one did likewise, firing the guns set into its split-ovoid wings. The green one stood still, letting loose a flurry of missiles from the pods behind its shoulders. The missiles whistled as they flew, spreading out over a row of three untouched hangars. The only sound was the constant roar of explosions.

Athrun stared, and so did Cagalli.

"New models?" she said, bewildered. Before Athrun could reply, the blue one stepped into view, crimson malevolence gushing from the beam emitter in its torso. The blast wave blew the smoke away, and Athrun could see the Mobile Suit clearly. He could make out the green eyes, the face, the golden crest on its brow.

"It's a…" Cagalli began.

"A _Gundam_," Athrun finished.

"Get her to the shelter," Durandal hissed to one of his bodyguards, before turning to the others. "Where is Evans! We have to stop them no matter what it takes!" There was a fury in his eyes that none of them had ever seen. "Contact the _Minerva _for backup!"

Cagalli and Athrun held hands as they ran after the bodyguard. Their guide led them between two hangars, on a route that seemed to take them away from the fighting.

They turned a corner and ran down another path between two more hangars. A GINN stood in front of them, bringing up its rifle, but too late as the green one descended upon it. Athrun saw the beam saber in its hand, saw the glowing blade ignite.

"Cagalli!" Forgetting the bodyguard, he pushed Cagalli sideways towards one of the hangars. He pushed her through and around the open doorway, pressing her to him as the GINN exploded. He felt the familiar heat of the blast wave, and the pain in his ears.

As his genetically-engineered constitution recovered, Athrun glanced around the door frame, Cagalli at his side. The green one had moved on, and there was no sign of the bodyguard. He looked back and forth, seeking a safe path. There were no more Mobile Suits in sight.

"This way!" He grabbed Cagalli's hand and ran back the way they had come. For a second it seemed as though they might escape, only for the black one to appear from around the corner. Athrun and Cagalli froze, but the quadruped mecha did not seem to have noticed them. Gunfire pattered over its black armour, and the Mobile Suit leapt into the air. Athrun saw his chance, pulling Cagalli behind a nearby supply truck.

"But why!" Cagalli wailed, as Athrun held her down. "Why is this happening!"

Athrun had no answer, no comfort to offer. He looked up, and saw the black one meet a purple DINN in mid-air. The DINN's wing came away, and the Mobile Suit tumbled from the sky to crash into one of the hangars. Athrun pressed Cagalli to him as the hangar exploded, feeling her breathing and the rapid beat of her heart.

He would die, if that was his fate. He would die to protect her, if that was what it took.

"Athrun?" He looked down, saw the fear in her eyes. Eyes in which fear did not belong.

"I'm okay." They stood up and looked around. The black one was in front, in its humanoid form, firing the same beam rifle that it had carried on its flank a moment ago. Athrun turned around, and saw a green-painted ZAKU _Warrior_ lying on the ground behind them. It had evidently been in the hangar that the DINN crash-landed on, but by some miracle it had merely fallen over rather than exploded.

Even better, the hatch was open.

"Come on!" Athrun grabbed Cagalli and ran for the ZAKU. He leapt onto its torso, pulling her up behind him. "Get in!"

"Huh?" Before she could object, Athrun scooped her up in his arms and dropped into the cockpit. Depositing her on one side, he lowered himself into the seat, which for some reason was the right way up. Ignoring the minor surprise, Athrun ran his eyes over the controls. They were arranged somewhat differently to the ZAFT mobile suits he had trained in a few years ago, but the logic was much the same.

"Athrun wait!" Cagalli protested.

"I'm not about to let you die in a place like this!" Athrun jabbed at the controls, the mobile suit coming alive around him. He pulled back the attitude control, felt the centre of gravity shift as the ZAKU stood up. The seat rotated as it rose, keeping Athrun and Cagalli in the upward position.

He had never thought it would happen. Part of him had never wanted to sit inside a mobile suit ever again. And yet there he was. Without hesitation, without forethought, he had climbed into the cockpit.

All for her sake. All to save her life.

There was no time to regret it, for the black one had noticed them. The mobile suit turned, regarding the ZAKU with those glowing green eyes. Athrun glanced down at the dashboard, and saw the transponder signal.

ZGMF-X88S _Gaia_.

The _Gaia_ raised its rifle. Athrun reacted, pressing his feet down on the pedals and yanking the joysticks left. The ZAKU's main thruster fired, enough to lift the mobile suit into the air, its vernier thrusters bearing it to the left as the _Gaia_ fired. The beam hissed past, ripping through the hangar wall behind. Athrun pressed the pedals forward, felt the kick of the main thruster, and the force of intertia pressing him into his seat. The ZAKU barrelled into the _Gaia_, sending it stumbling back.

It felt good. The ZAKU had responded almost flawlessly, the pedals just a little stiff, having not been calibrated for him. Athrun felt his terror ease, replaced by something he had not felt in a long time.

Calm. Control. Equilibrium. His mind settled, his thoughts reordering themselves. He was in control.

He ran his eyes over the dashboard again, looking to see if the ZAKU had any kind of weapon. He found it. MA-M8 Beam Tomahawk. Whatever that was.

Athrun keyed it. A handle emerged from the top of the shield, and the ZAKU's right arm reached out to clasp it. It drew the weapon, revealing it to be a short, heavy-bladed axe. The blade glowed pink-white, giving the axe its name.

_Gaia _drew its own beam saber, the glowing blade emerging with a hiss of burning air. The black mobile suit came on, bringing the saber up in a right-to-left diagonal. Athrun fell back, bringing up the shield to catch the glowing blade, lashing out with his axe. The axe struck the _Gaia_'s own shield. It did not break through. Athrun fell back again. The _Gaia_ leapt after him, swinging right to left, cutting through empty air. It back-handed, catching the blade of the ZAKU's axe.

Athrun gritted his teeth. His enemy lacked finesse, but made up for it in aggression, keeping the pressure on. Worse, he or she had reflexes comparable to a trained Coordinator, which almost certainly meant a comparable thinking speed. The sort of tricks he might have used to turn the tables on an EA pilot would probably not work. This was going to be tricky.

"Look out!" Cagalli yelled. Something flickered to Athrun's left. He was already turning, even as the green mobile suit leapt at him, beam saber raised high. He wrenched the joysticks, willing the ZAKU to turn faster, heard Cagalli's gasp as they both knew he was too late.

The beam saber came down, slicing through the ZAKU's left forearm, cutting it clean off. The severed arm fell, as did the shield it carried.

Athrun felt his body tense, that cold prickling sensation freezing his muscles and chilling his heart. He was going to die.

Oblivious, unfeeling, the ZAKU identified the green one, displaying its identity on the forward screen, as if it thought its occupants might like to know who was about to kill them.

ZGMF-X24S _Chaos_.

But _Chaos_ did not attack. Instead it stumbled forward as something pounded into its back. _Chaos _and _Gaia_ looked up into the sky, their maimed quarry forgotten as they sought the source of the attack.

It came, dropping from the clouds at daredevil speed, passing them so close that Athrun could feel the wind buffet his ZAKU. He and his two assailants looked after it, their battle put on hold as they took in the newcomer.

It was an aircraft, small and blocky in shape, painted blue and white. As it soared up into the sky, Athrun wondered what it could be. It seemed too small to be a fighter, and yet there it was, in the thick of the action. Was it some civilian trying to lend a hand?

But then there were others. Two more objects, banking in to take up formation behind the fighter. Athrun jabbed at the dashboard controls, activating the zoom function and focussing it on the trio of aircraft.

What followed was one of the most bizarre aerobatic displays he or Cagalli had ever seen.

The fighter pulled up suddenly, until it was flying vertical. Athrun and Cagalli stared in disbelief as it began to change. The nose retracted into the fuselage. The wings folded in, the empty rocket pods dropping away. One of the other aircraft took up position directly underneath it, and Athrun saw it to be a mobile suit's waist and legs. The other formed up above, and in a manoeuvre that must have required either endless practice or computer programming of unimaginable sophistication, the three began to combine. The folded-up fighter joined with the module above it, even as the legs came up from below, guided by red laser beams. The waist slotted into place, the legs spreading as they came online. And then yet another aircraft appeared, dropping in from above. The nose broke off and flew away, the rest of the fuselage closing in to attach itself to the mobile suit's back.

It fell from the sky like an avenging angel, thrusters blazing to slow its descent, drawing two swords as long as it was tall from its back. It landed right in front of the ZAKU, its torso shining red as Phase Shift armour came online. It jammed the sword hilts together, then with a final flourish twirled the twin-bladed sword over its head and brought it down in the ready position.

Athrun and Cagalli were still staring, even as the transponder code blinked on the screen.

ZGMF-X56S _Impulse_

"Why are you doing this!" yelled a young man's voice over the mobile suit's loudspeakers. "Do you want to start another war!"

* * *

There were two of them.

_Nazca _class destroyers, painted blue, with their distinctive trident hulls. If the registry was correct, their names were _Herschell_ and _Fourier_.

The _Nazca_ class had made a good name for itself in the Bloody Valentine war. Back then it was a new class, designed in secret over many years and rushed into production in the earliest years of the Cosmic Era's seventh decade. The _Nazca_ combined a heavy armament and an advanced sensor suite with powerful engines, making it a ton-for-ton match with any EA warship until the short-lived _Archangel_ class. It was expected to remain competitive for at least another decade.

So thought Samuel Alvarez as he watched the ships drift by.

It was strangely pleasant to watch them. The zoom function of his GAT-01A2R _Slaughter Dagger_'s main camera let him see them clearly, though they were hundreds of kilometres distant. He wanted to enjoy the experience while he had the chance. For in no more than a few minutes, the main event would begin.

Not that he minded. In truth, he was looking forward to it. He wanted to see if that arrogant Neo could really pull it off.

And he had the perfect vantage point. Clinging to the wall of the colony, sensors in passive mode, the colony's heat bloom masking his thermal emissions, the chances of him being spotted were slim to none.

He glanced down at the digital clock in the bottom right corner of his main screen. The seconds counted down, the digits cold and bring in the darkness of his cockpit. He felt his beard itch. Was it with anticipation?

Or was it fear?

Alvarez liked fear. He enjoyed the rush of adrenalin, the heavy beating of his heart, the lightning running through him, readying him for battle. He would not run. He would not freeze. Fear was his servant, not his master. It was his private strength, the secret of his success.

Zero Hour.

And there it was. A distortion, the suggestion of a shape, racing across the void. The two destroyers continued along their patrol route, as they had done so many times before, their attention no doubt on the ruckus taking place inside the colony.

They would never see it coming.

Alzarez felt his heart beat faster. The distortion was on course, moving closer and closer. He leaned in closer to the screen, wishing he could have seen it directly, out in space through his own eyes.

There they were. Two pairs of emerald beams lancing across the void, there and gone in the blink of an eye, striking the outermost destroyer on the main hull. Alvarez felt his breath catch in his throat, time seeming to slow down as the crippled warship drifted on, for a fraction of a second.

Then it exploded. The second ticked as the destroyer vanished in a ball of light.

Alvarez felt that familiar thrill at the sight. Neo was…_competent_, he decided. But the real test was about to happen.

His passive sensors registered a massive thermal spike. He could see the flash of light from the rear of the distortion, resolving itself into the shape of the _Girty Lue_ as the Mirage Colloid particles flaked away. Alvarez could see the warship clearly; the dark blue paint job, the heavy _Gottfried_ beam cannon turrets positioned dorsal, flank, and ventral around the bow hangars, the blocky stern section wherein the two sets of four nuclear pulse engines were located. He could even see the skeletal gantry 'wings' set port and starboard of the stern section, with their clusters of globes. Each of those globes contained highly-pressurized gas, providing the _Girty_ _Lue _with a means of acceleration and manoeuvre that created significantly less heat than the engines, albeit with a tiny fraction of the thrust.

The other _Nazca_ was reacting, thrusters flaring as it tried to turn, to bring its weapons to bear. They had half a chance, as the _Girty Lue_ hadn't had its reactor dialled up long enough to charge _all _the beam cannons. But if Neo Roanoke was half as capable as he seemed to think he was, it wouldn't matter.

Sure enough, tiny shapes leapt from the _Girty Lue_'s central section. The missiles came about, white contrails marking their passage as they sped towards the still-turning destroyer. A few of its CIWS turrets opened up, but Neo had gotten the angle of his approach just right, and not enough of them were in a position to fire. Alvarez clenched his fists in anticipation as the missiles closed in, each explosion making his heart skip a beat. Closer, closer…

They hit. One missile struck the bridge, another the starboard engine section, while the others tore into the main hull. The engine section exploded, hurling the crippled destroyer away and out of the battle.

"_Neo Roanoke_," Alvarez thought wryly. "_You pass._"

Realising that time was moving on, he glanced at his companion. It was another _Slaughter Dagger,_ painted in Phantom Pain black as opposed to his own dark red. He did not need to use the radio, for the other mobile suit nodded its head in understanding.

With a push of his foot pedals, his mech eased itself away. He did not activate the thrusters, the force of the movement enough to get him going. His companion did likewise, and the two mobile suits drifted towards the vast cylinder of the harbour module.

Alvarez counted down the seconds as they closed on the entrance. Based on their best known response times, they should have been about ready to launch additional ships. If he was to carry out his part of the mission, he would have to arrive before the first ship passed the harbour mouth. The plan required that no more ZAFT ships should succeed in deploying. Picking up those three would be hard enough without any more complications.

Their luck held. As they reached the entrance, Alvarez glanced back at _Girty Lue_. The ship was still on course, still accelerating as it approached the extraction zone. He knew that the _Girty Lue_ dared not slow down, and that if he and those other three weren't back in time, they would be left behind. The mission did not allow for mistakes.

He checked his systems one last time. All green. Heart pounding, he pressed his feet down on the pedals, activating his mobile suit's main thrusters. He felt their force against his back, the intertia against his front, as his _Slaughter Dagger _began to move. He eased his feet to the left, his mobile suit drifting sideways across the open entrance.

Alvarez stared down the wide tunnel into the harbour. A _Laurasia_ class frigate loomed in front of him, filling his forward screen as it advanced. It was the only one, unfortunately. The ZAFT personnel seemed to be following strict procedure, having no more than one ship active in the harbour at any time. There were good reasons for it, reasons Alvarez was about to remind them of.

He squeezed the thumb triggers. The 115mm railguns fired, launching two high-density darts straight into the oncoming frigate's bridge. He pictured the faces of the bridge crew, mouths gaping in horror and disbelief, in the instant before their destruction.

He turned slightly to the left, aiming his railguns at the frigate's starboard engine section. The shots struck, and the engines exploded in a bright, silent flash. The force sent the frigate drifting to the left, turning on its axis until its still-firing port engines were aimed straight at the control centre's gallery window. Alvarez watched in perverse satisfaction as the engine flare obliterated the control centre, before the frigate crashed into the wall. The green hull crumpled as momentum drove it on, putting him in mind of an egg against a stone wall.

The frigate exploded, the blast hurling white-hot debris in all directions. Some of it struck the harbour wall, scarring it black, but much of it was hurled back into the harbour, and into the ships still waiting there. Flying wreckage struck ammunition containers, fuel lines, and the ships themselves. Within seconds the harbour was a mass of explosions.

Alvarez smiled in satisfaction, letting the blast wave carry him out of the harbour entrance and away, his wingman at his side.

* * *

Shinn Asuka gritted his teeth.

The three prototypes were as deadly in the air was they were on the ground. The _Gaia_ had been bad enough on its own, but now all three of them were on his case.

_Gaia_ came at him again, this time in human form, swinging its beam saber. A burst of his thrusters took him up, the black mobile suit rushing underneath.

"Why is something like this happening!" Frustration made him shout the question aloud. And why was it? Why had those three come? Why were they so determined to steal the new prototypes?

Why did they want to start another war?

His heart was pounding. He hadn't trained for fighting such opponents. None of them had. Even the advanced course, all ten gruelling weeks of it, had prepared him for nothing more dangerous than Orb _Astray_s. No one had considered the possibility of fighting a high-end mobile suit with a top-notch pilot, one capable of reprogramming and mastering such a machine in the space of a few minutes.

_Gaia_ came around in a smooth arc, evidently in no mood to concede. Shinn keyed for his beam boomerang, waiting a moment as _Impulse_'s arm reached for the weapon. He pulled on the right joystick, bringing his mobile suit's arm around, back, around, and back again. When the moment was right he squeezed the trigger, letting the weapon fly. _Gaia _brought up its shield. The boomerang bounced away, but it had hit with force enough to send the _Gaia_ flying.

Shinn prepared to attack, but the _Abyss_ dropped to block his path. He saw the blue mobile suit spread its wings, heard the buzzer warn him of a target lock. He brought up his own shield as the _Abyss_ fired, deflecting the deadly beams. As he lowered it, he saw _Abyss _begin to advance on him, long-handled dagger-axe held at the ready.

Particle bolts struck its right wing, causing the blue mobile suit to pause. Shinn glanced about, looking to see who had fired.

His heart leapt as two more mobile suits drew near, both of them familiar. One was a red-painted ZAKU _Warrior_, the other a white ZAKU _Phantom,_ with long shields on both its shoulders. He keyed the radio, hoping they were who he hoped they were.

"Rey! Luna!" he yelled. "That you!"

"Shinn." He recognized Rey Za Burrel's no-nonsense voice. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm still here but I can't take all three on my own! It looks like they're bugging out!"

"Understood!" A familiar female voice came from the red ZAKU, that of Lunamaria Hawke. "We'll back you up!"

Shinn felt his confidence return. He knew his two old classmates well, and knew their abilities. The three of them together might be able to do it.

"You bastards!" he heard Luna snarl over the radio. "How dare you do this to us!" The two came on, firing their beam rifles. _Chaos_ and _Abyss _began to pull away, their fighting spirit seemingly gone, though Shinn was certain their batteries were running low.

But _Gaia _was fighting on. The black mobile suit charged at him again, green particle bolts hissing from its shoulders. As it closed, Shinn could almost feel its pilot's fury, as if it were a rage strong enough to carry over the distance and into his pounding heart. He brought up his sword, catching the incoming _Gaia_'s blow and twisting to parry it away. _Gaia _came around again.

And then, against all reason, all common sense, all _sanity,_ the _Gaia_ wasn't moving.

Shinn was momentarily stunned. But sure enough, it just hovered where it was, as if the pilot had forgotten where he was. Had he frozen?

It was a chance he couldn't miss. He hurled the beam boomerang again, but _Chaos_ dropped in front, knocking the boomerang away and levelling its beam rifle. Shinn caught the boomerang and dodged, particle bolts hissing past. _Gaia_ was moving again, blazing away at maximum speed, _Chaos_ and _Abyss_ falling into formation around it.

Captain Talia Gladys did not like being the calm centre in a storm of chaos and blind panic. It was a major part of a Captain's role, and she accepted it as such, but that did not make it any less of a headache. Especially when she was trying to think.

And then _he_ had turned up.

Of all the people to come storming back into her life at such a time, it had to be Gilbert Durandal. Him, and three purple-uniformed Commanders of the General Staff, doubtless looking for someone to shout at. As if her bridge crew needed any more distractions.

"_Minerva_!" came Shinn Asuka's voice over the com. "Send out the _Force Silhouette_!"

"Captain?" Commander Arthur Trine, clad in subaltern black, looked worriedly down at her from his perch beside Combat Information Controller Meyrin Hawke's chair.

"Send it out," she said firmly. "I authorise it." She quarter-turned her chair, just enough to look straight at the Chairman. "There's no point in keeping it a secret now, is there?"

She could not read him. Not there and then, not in that place. Not when they were…like that.

"No," he replied levelly.

"_Force Silhouette_!" Meyrin barked into the com pickup. "Stand by to launch!"

She was holding up well, Talia thought. Despite the situation, and doubtless worrying about her older sister Lunamaria, she was handling her duties with calm professionalism.

Yes, ZAFT had been fortunate in acquiring the services of the Hawke sisters. They weren't the only orphans in ZAFT, but Talia would not have exchanged them for anyone.

She saw the _Force Silhouette_ launch, soaring away into the sky, heading to Shinn's assistance. The _Impulse_ was thus far proving to be one of the day's few bright points. The rather unusual deployment system was working like a charm.

As was, to be fair, its pilot. She had harboured doubts about Shinn Asuka, his instructors describing him as a self-centred wannabe ace who tried to do everything on his own. She knew the type, and knew how they tended to turn out. But his skill was undeniable, and beggars could not be choosers.

Talia's lip curled as she saw the colony wall glow, the honeycomb structure warping and melting under the pounding the _Gaia _was inflicting on it. Sure enough, the red glow turned black, and the debris drifting in the weak gravity suddenly raced out.

A small breach in the colony wall wasn't a problem. Such was the colony's size, it could bleed air for days without anyone really noticing. It would take a direct hit from a nuclear weapon to do any meaningful harm. But the stolen prototypes now had the egress route they needed, and _Impulse_'s battery was running down.

"Captain!" Arthur protested, in the near-panic which she had come to regard as his default state. "They're heading out on their own, and the enemy ship is still out there!" Sure enough, the _Impulse_ had just flown out through the hole, accompanied by Rey za Burrel in his ZAKU _Phantom_.

"_Impulse_ is flatlining!" Meyrin reported. "Three hundred and falling!" Talia made her decision.

"We can't lose the _Impulse_ as well," she proclaimed. "All stations will prepare to launch!" Trine gasped, and he wasn't the only one.

"Very well, Talia," Durandal acquiesced in a low voice.

* * *

"_There you are._"

Neo smiled a vulpine smile as he saw the tiny explosion. His smile widened as the three prototypes emerged, one after the other, heading out into the extraction zone. They were within time, and so long as they didn't screw up the interception they would be safe. That was a good thing, but having that epicure Alvarez admit he could do something right would be even better.

A certain…_something_ drew his attention to the black mobile suit, the one out in front, running for the _Girty Lue_ like a bat out of hell.

It was Stella. And she was scared. _Very_ scared.

Neo sighed. One of them must have used the block word on her, most likely Auel. He knew what it did to them only too well. He understood the fate of the Extendeds better than they themselves did.

Such was the power he possessed. Such was the power that allowed him to pilot his _Exus_. Such was the power that sensed _them _coming.

Neo eased the joysticks, the verniers moving his _Exus_ away from the colony. He felt the ship respond, as his consciousness began to expand. He saw them emerge from the hole, wreathed in drifting debris. Two mobile suits, one a white ZAKU _Phantom_, the other a model he had never seen before. Had there been another prototype?

It didn't matter. Those two were pursuing the prototypes, and the _Girty Lue_ could not afford to slow down. It was up to him.

He tweaked the joysticks, aiming his _Exus_ onto just the right heading. He felt the gravity as if it were the sun upon his face, or a gentle breeze. He knew, from practice and from instinct, how his _Exus _would fly. He waited, excitement shivering under his serenity, for the moment to move.

"_Now._"

He eased the throttle forward. He felt _Exus_ accelerate, a purple dart cutting through the void. He soared in a graceful arc, his course taking him neatly onto the tail of the fourth prototype.

It was an effortless ride, perfectly smooth but for the g-forces pressing him into his seat. The engines were perfectly balanced, the shock-absorbers well within capacity. His _Exus_ was a finely-honed killing implement, hand-crafted to perfection, every system calibrated to his own specifications.

And it came with a special something. Something that needed his _particular_ talents.

Neo keyed the command. The four Gunbarrels sped away, control cables unspooling as they went, spreading out to form a saltire formation around the _Exus_. The enemy seemed entirely unaware, even as they closed to firing range.

The Gunbarrels fired, their beams crisscrossing in front of and around the prototype. The blue and white mobile suit pulled up suddenly, trying to evade the deadly bracketing fire.

Exactly as Neo thought he would. As the crosshairs hovered over the prototype's main thruster, Neo squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of autocannon rounds across the void.

But something was wrong. He could…_feel_ something, something in that white ZAKU _Phantom_. Almost like…

The white _Phantom_ was there, the bullets bouncing off its heavy shield.

"_What are you doing!" _Neo felt the words as much as heard them, and knew they were not directed at him. "_You're nothing but a target if you don't focus! This is no ordinary enemy pilot!_"

Neo jabbed at the keys, turning the Gunbarrels on the white _Phantom_. But the ZAKU was too fast, dodging each Gunbarrel even as it opened fire, yet not flying into the fire of another.

"_You're no ordinary enemy either_," he thought. He had one last thing up his sleeve, something that pilot, despite his evident skill, was unlikely to see coming. He keyed for the Horned Moon, selecting two of the Gunbarrels.

He came about again, feeling the press of the g-forces. The Gunbarrels were already closing in, two of them keeping up bracketing fire on the white ZAKU. The enemy dodged, much as he had before, and Neo could see him, no, _feel_ him preparing to dodge the other two. But they did not shoot. Instead they raced on, twin beam sabers set above and below activating as they closed in.

Neo let out a hiss of surprise and frustration as the white ZAKU managed to dodge. His hiss became a growl as the _Phantom_ rounded on him, aiming its beam rifle. He drew on the stick, pulling the _Exus_ up and away, the bolts flashing past.

The prototype's pilot seemed to have remembered what he was supposed to be doing. The fourth prototype was an impressive sight as it came on, with its saltire wings, broad shield, and blazing beam saber. It made Neo want it even more, even as he turned the Gunbarrels on it. Its pilot was not quite on the same level as the white _Phantom_'s pilot, however, having to take some of the bracketing fire on that rather impressive shield.

Even better, he could see scorched armour plating. If he could just keep it up…

His proximity sensor buzzed insistently. Neo glanced at his sensor display, and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the thermal bloom boiling across the void towards him.

He knew what it was.

"Lee!" he roared into the com. "I'm coming back! Max acceleration as soon as I'm on board! If I miss, go without me!"

"Yes sir."

Neo slammed back the throttle, felt the force of the engines, and the clunk as the Gunbarrels reattached themselves. He pressed the joystick forward, pushing it with all his strength, as if by doing so he could will the _Exus _to go faster.

The _Minerva_ had launched. The _Minerva_ was after him. It was less than two hundred kilometres away and accelerating. The mission was going horribly wrong very fast.

Had they underestimated the _Minerva_'s capabilities? Had they miscalculated the angle of the launch tunnel? Or was it _those_ three, taking too long inside the colony?

They had taken too long, but Neo knew it was not purely their fault. He had not performed much better in that regard. ZAFT, it seemed, had not only produced some excellent mobile suits, but at least one decent pilot. The latter could not have been predicted.

He looked at his rear-view screen. There was the _Minerva_, resplendent in navy grey and red, its forward profile looking to him like a mobile suit's foot with wings. It was a ludicrous impression, and an entirely unhelpful one.

Neo knew it was his fault. It was his fault for failing to take out that white _Phantom_, his fault for making Lee slow the _Girty Lue _down, when the whole plan was predicated on getting away in one pass. The others had made it, so what mattered was getting the _Girty Lue_ to the safety of the Moon. He knew he should order Lee to go, key the self destruct, and save Phantom Pain the red tape. He could not allow himself to be captured by them. Not under any circumstances.

But another part of him was not ready to die, not without one last shot.

Behind him, he could see the _Minerva_ slowing down, no doubt to collect its two mobile suits. Before him was the _Girty Lue_, growing larger and larger. Neo brought the _Exus _around, over the warship's bow, and down in front. The starboard hatch was open, waiting for him. He _had_ to get it right.

He cut the engines, forced the joystick to remain level, _willing_ the _Exus _to fly true. He could see the _Girty Lue_'s bow grow as it caught up with him. Closer, closer, closer.

Neo felt himself slam against his seat as the crash webbing caught the _Exus_. He had made it.

"Lee!"

"Yes sir!"

* * *

It was a ship like no other.

It was a ship of prodigious size, made to carry tens of thousands across the gulf of the solar system and bring them safe home. It was a ship of war, bristling with mighty weapons. It was a ship of peace, bearing the hopes of millions.

Its name was _Jovian Dawn_.

To Daniel Scirocco, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Jupiter, it had been home for nearly two years. The observation gallery in which he was standing was one of his favourite parts of it. It was a place where he could think, or simply be alone. And there were times when he needed all the solitude he could get.

For the moment, he was content to be there. It was enough to stand before the gallery window, gazing out at the sight of their objective.

Earth.

How small it had seemed two years ago, how tiny. How different had things been back then, when they set off on the greatest journey in in Jovian history since the first migrations. How different _he _had been, a neurotic fifteen-year-old with unreliable vocal chords and mutinous skin, sent by his father on a mission of the utmost importance, a mission that would be his making, or else his breaking.

The journey had changed him. That was the nature of journeys, or so he had been taught. He had grown, in body as well as in spirit. He had trained and learned, becoming so much more than he had previously been. He had been most comforted when his body finally regained its equilibrium, after years of adolescent mismanagement. His hair, dark brown running to black, was no longer greasy. His face, the bronze skin betraying his Jovian heritage, was no longer riddled with the vile pustules that had caused him so much adolescent anguish. His voice had finished its shift from childhood soprano to adult baritone, though no power under heaven could persuade him to sing. That was still a step too far.

At least he would look and sound presentable when they arrived. As the goodwill ambassador, that was the most important thing. If he could pull off the act, say the right things, smile the right way, then he could do his part.

And no one would have to see the person underneath. Daniel doubted they would like what they found.

He felt ashamed. Such feelings were unworthy, he knew. Compared to the suffering the Jovian people had endured, his problems were less than nothing. When up against their sacrifices, his achievements counted for little. It was a humbling thought, one he kept in mind always, lest pride or hubris get the better of him. It was not for him to judge his own worthiness, or to trust in his own righteousness.

That was why he liked being in the observation gallery. The glitter of a million distant stars was an inspiration, even after seventeen years of living in space. It calmed him, easing his troubled mind, allowing him to subsume his worries in the incomprehensible vastness of the universe.

But it was the Earth itself that currently dominated his field of vision. He could see it more clearly than ever, looming just beyond the _Jovian Dawn_'s bow. A great blue orb, the continents green and brown, wreathed in white clouds. The place from which humanity had arisen, the nest from which it had flown.

Little was known of Earth among the Jovian colonies. Many of their ancestors had wished it so, seeking to leave the Earth and its problems behind. What little information they had received since then was patchy and inconsistent, of little interest compared to the strife of previous decades.

The _Jovian Dawn_ would change all that, or so Daniel hoped. They would learn the fate of humanity, and establish for Jupiter a fitting place in the grand design. They would learn whether George Glenn had kept his promise.

They did not know what they would find, but the auguries were not good. They had seen the bright flashes that could only be nuclear weapons. They had seen something else too, a concentrated flare of radiation, like nothing any Jovian had ever seen before.

They had been right to make the _Jovian Dawn _so mighty. If it all went wrong, it might be what saved them all.

Despite his reverie, he still heard the door slide open, and the three sets of footsteps entering the chamber. He knew who they were.

"I know, Hannon, I'm standing with my back to the door." He felt himself smile, warmth spreading through him. "But I knew it was you."

"Perhaps you did," came the familiar voice, unable to conceal a tinge of amusement. "And perhaps I should shoot your Highness to make the point."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Oh wouldn't he?" said another familiar voice.

"If he was inclined to," Daniel turned to face them, "he would have done so long ago."

There were three of them, all as dear to his heart as his own father. In the centre was Hannon Gable, white-blond hair reaching to his waist, a look of amused indulgence on his delicately-fashioned face. A bronze-coloured Aquila sat perched on his right shoulder. To his right was Damien Valors, his unkempt black hair held away from his eyes by a red headband. To his left was Ninin Pulu Lemo, short and slender, her hair a reddish orange, looking as though she was about to burst out laughing. All three were dressed as he was, in the dark blue uniforms of the Royal Jovian armed forces, with the red facings and cuffs of the Royal Guards. Gold lanyards hung from their right shoulders, marking them as proven battlepod pilots, an honour he had not yet earned.

They were his Royal Guards, his mentors, and his truest friends. They had been with him since before their departure, Hannon and Damien since he was a child of seven years, Ninin since he was ten. In their own ways they had moulded him, strengthened him, tempered and improved him. Were it not for them, he would not be who he was.

Were it not for them, he would be dead twice over.

"Tell me then," Daniel said, turning to face them fully. "What have I forgotten this time?"

"This time, nothing," Hannon replied. "There's been an altercation at Lagrange 4."

"An altercation?" Daniel asked, intrigued.

"He means a fight," Damien interjected sarcastically.

"Captain Moneta said to show you," Ninin added. "Aquila! Map on the viewport!" The last she directed at the Aquila perched on Hannon's shoulder. The mechanical bird spread its wings, his long hair billowing as it took flight. Two metres across with wings fully spread, the robot was one of hundreds aboard the _Jovian Dawn_, used for any number of minor tasks. The Aquila flew across the chamber, pausing by the interface panel on the wall perpendicular to the right hand end of the viewport. It latched onto the wall, the electromagnets in its three-clawed feet holding it in place, its eyes flashing on and off at the panel.

An instant later the viewport was covered with the bright lines of a tactical overlay. A ring encircled the Earth, marking the orbit of the moon, the Lagrange points marked out along them.

"Focus Lagrange 4," Hannon ordered. "Maximum magnification." A box surrounded one of the Lagrange points, then zoomed in to display it in detail. Daniel could make out the space stations, perhaps hundreds of them. Most were the O'Neill Island 3 cylinders his people had used, but the centre of attention seemed to be another colony of a distinctly different type, shaped like an hourglass. There were multiple ship contacts arranged around it.

"The fight's going on around this one," Damien began as he and Hannon strode over to the viewport, pointing at the hourglass colony. "Aquila, replay from start." The contact icons disappeared, reappearing in new positions.

"This ship," Hannon pointed at one out on its own, "came in firing, and blew away these two here." As he spoke, the icons played out the scenario, the two moving serenely along, as if on patrol, while the newcomer approached from behind. The pair of icons changed, indicating the ships they represented to have been destroyed.

"After that," Damien cut in, "it destroyed another ship, and then Opticon detected multiple detonations inside the colony itself. Here," he gestured at a cylindrical module reaching out from the colony's central shaft, "and here," he pointed at the lower hemisphere.

"Then they are at war," Daniel said mournfully. "It is as we feared."

There was silence in the chamber. He sensed Ninin's presence as she stepped up beside him, comforting him as it always did.

"To be honest, your highness, I'm not entirely sure they are," Hannon interjected, noticing his mood. "We haven't detected anything like this since we passed Mars. This may be nothing but a brushfire."

"Aren't you being a tad optimistic?" Damien remarked darkly. "That was one of their bigger warships. The part I don't get is how that ship got so close without getting detected."

"Show him the others!" Ninin insisted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Show him show him show him!"

"All right! Jeez!" Damien groused. "Aquila, display contacts B1 through B5." The display marked five smaller contacts, expanding them until their images stood in a row along the viewport. Daniel's green eyes widened.

"Battlepods," he breathed.

"That's right," Hannon replied. "Humanoid battlepods, just like our own. It seems they had the same idea."

"When were these shots taken?" Daniel asked, still examining the images closely.

"Approximately one hour ago." Hannon dismissed the overlay.

"I should compliment the scan-techs on their work. What does the Captain intend to do?"

"For now, nothing." Damien glowered, and Daniel could sense his dissatisfaction.

"The Captain reckons we wouldn't do any good even if we could get there," Ninin added. "We're four days out as it is, and if we fire the engines they'll take it the wrong way."

Daniel returned his attention to the Earth. He stepped up to the viewport, his brow furrowed.

"They must have seen us by now," he said, almost to himself.

"Indeed," Hannon agreed.

"And yet," Damien commented, standing at Daniel's side. "They still haven't contacted us."

"Maybe they don't know what to say," Daniel suggested.

"Or maybe," Ninin mused, uncharacteristically serious, "they're afraid of what _we'll_ say."

As Daniel gazed upon the Earth, the words of a song drifted into his mind. It had come to him on a dark and lonely night, to ease his troubled soul. So it had done, on six hundred nights since then. A song, written in a language of old Terra, as if to call to him.

_Shizukana kono yoru ni _

_anata wo matteru no_

_ano toki wasureta _

_hohoemi wo tori ni kite_

_are kara sukoshi dake jikan ga sugite_

_omoide ga yasashiku natta ne._

_Hoshi no furu basho de_

_anata ga waratte irukoto wo _

_itsumo negatteta _

_ima tookutemo_

_mata aeru yo ne_

_Itsu kara hohoemi wa konna ni hakanakute_

_hitotsu no machigaide kowarete shimau kara_

_taisetsuna mono dake wo hikari ni kaete_

_tooi sora koete yuku tsuyosade_

_Hoshi no furu basho e_

_omoi wo anata ni todoketai _

_itsumo soba ni iru_

_sono tsumetasa wo dakishimeru kara_

_ima toukutemo, kitto aerune_

_shizuka na yoru ni… _

_shizuka na yoru ni… _

* * *

**That's it for Chapter One. I hope you found it enjoyable. If I get enough positive reviews, I will continue as soon as possible.**

**A couple of points to address. For one, Neo is not Mu la Flaga this time round. Mu died heroically, and Neo will play a very different, though no less important role. I can't reveal more without spoiling it. **

**Also, some of you may have recognized Daniel's three companions. I may as well say that they're based on a certain rather mismatched team from Gundam Musou, a concept proposed by Zaru. To be clear, Ninin Pulu Lemo is aged fifteen in this case, as opposed to ten. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Much has been said of the value of the military robot. Robots don't get sick. Robots don't want money, or family life, or rights of any kind. Robots don't need air, or water, or food. Robots can handle greater extremes of temperature and higher g-forces. Nobody mourns when a robot dies. Who cares if they can't think? How smart do you need to be to fire a gun? Or drop a bomb? And if you really must have a human pilot in the loop, let him pilot by datalink from a nice safe bunker. Nobody has to die. _

_Even if you believe all that, there's one thing a human pilot has that no robot will ever foreseeably have. A human pilot can be loyal. A human pilot cannot be reprogrammed in the midst of a battle. He cannot be turned against his comrades by a few lines of code. Unlike all our military technology, the living, breathing soldier cannot be subverted by some hacker in a basement with a high-spec rig and murder in mind. _

_Science has yet to create the equal of a human mind, or a human heart, except by the facilitation of natural processes. If it ever did so, if it could ever create a machine and make it truly think, and truly feel, such a thing could never be a weapon alone. _

_If we gave a machine a heart, it would be as human as we are. But for our flesh and blood, we are ourselves machines. _

_George Glenn _

_**Then**_

_**Onogoro Island, Orb Union, June 16**__**th,**__** CE 71**_

The sky was blue. The sun was warm and bight.

The wind was hot; the only sound the roar of explosions.

Orb was burning.

Hundreds of kilometres off the coast, warships of the Earth Alliance fired volley after volley, filling the sky with missiles. The deadly projectiles cut through the air, turning the sky white with their contrails, falling down upon their targets. Closer to the score, escort ships fired their guns, trying to force the defenders back so that their own troops could land.

Mobile suits, painted a perverse blue white and red, leapt from their transports, their thrusters bearing them safely down. They fired as they descended, emerald beams hissing through the air to destroy all they touched.

But the defenders did not retreat. The infantry manned their bunkers and trenches, the sands turning red as they loosed their gunfire on the incoming landing craft. Linear tanks and mobile railguns fired again and again, selling their lives dearly. Above them all stood the mobile suits, Orb's new _Astray_s, their orange and white colours bright in the sun. They stood like warrior heroes of some forgotten age, colossi before the darkness, striking down all that came upon them.

But the Earth Alliance forces would not relent. The sight of their fellows being mown down on the beaches, or blasted apart in the sky, hardened their hearts. It made them all the more obstinate, all the more hateful, all the more determined. Orb was defying them, and for that Orb would pay dearly.

A few did not hate Orb. To those few Orb was just another enemy, just another set of targets. To a more substantial minority, the five ruling Houses of Orb were race traitors, criminals who harboured the hated Coordinators in their country. But to most of the soldiers of OMNI, Orb's crime was nothing so ideological, nothing so esoteric. Orb's sin was neutrality.

"_You are nothing,_" Orb seemed to say. "_You are nothing to us. Your hopes and your dreams. Your beliefs and your convictions. Your anger and your pain. Your grief and your suffering. These things mean nothing to us. We will not help you. We will not spill our blood for the sake of your victory. Your cause is not our cause._"

It bred a terrible rage within them, the rage of the ignored, the despised, and the betrayed.

The passions of the Orb soldiers were no less. To them it was a fight to the death, to defend their homeland from those who would destroy it. To them, the OMNI soldiers were murderous bigots, jealous of Orb's peace and prosperity, destroyers of that which they could not have. They knew what would happen to them if they fell into OMNI's clutches. Not one Orb soldier surrendered on that terrible day.

But Shinn Asuka did not know that.

In truth, he was not really thinking about anything. He had a more immediate concern, that of getting himself and his family down to the docks, to the ship that was waiting to take them to safety.

They were in front of him, hurrying down the uneven path, through the trees that lined the hillside. His mother and father, and his little sister Mayu, struggling and gasping to keeping up. She was still in her school uniform, so suddenly had they been forced to flee.

He glanced to his right. There in the valley was the naval base, adjacent to the civilian port to which they were hurrying. The base was wreathed in smoke, shot through here and there with bright flame. Still the orange and white mobile suits stood their ground, firing their beam rifles as the missiles fell.

Still it seemed distant to him, like it was happening to someone else. This was war as he had never seen it, so close that he could feel it, smell it, taste it. But the enemy did not seem to be targeting the hill, or paying them any attention at all. Perhaps it was as his father had said a moment ago, with that forced smile. Perhaps they would only target the military facilities after all. Perhaps they really only wanted the mass driver, like the talking heads on the news had speculated.

The family halted suddenly, as a massive shape swooped in towards them like a raptor on the wing. All fell to the ground as the turquoise-painted mobile suit soared overhead, buffeting them with the slipstream. Shinn could feel his father's hand holding him down, hear his heavy, terrified breathing. He was no longer a little boy, a child who thought his father like unto a god. But the knowledge of his father's fear, of his powerlessness, unsettled him all the same. Something exploded nearby, the heat of the blast washing over them. Shinn could hear Mayu screaming.

An instant later they were up and moving again, the proximity of the battle giving their flight a new urgency. Shinn glanced behind, and saw another mobile suit swooping in to face the turquoise machine. The new one was white and blue, wings spread like an angel of death.

"Come on!" his father growled, and the family pushed themselves all the harder. The port was already in sight.

Shinn saw something bounce away from Mayu.

"My mobile phone!" she cried, stopping suddenly as it bounced down the hill.

"Just forget about it dear!" their mother protested, as Mayu pulled on her hand.

Shinn leapt, halting the argument before it began. He could see the pink device clearly, sitting just in front of a tree a few metres down the hillside. In the space of a moment he reached it, and bent down to pick it up.

Then he was falling, tumbling down the hill in a wind of burning heat, the explosion roaring in his ears. He landed hard and lay still, stunned.

"Are you all right!" came a man's voice from behind. He felt himself being hauled to his feet, and he stared in stunned disbelief at the blasted, burning crater that had once been the hillside.

"Mom? Dad?" he muttered, his brain still addled. "Where's Mayu?" But he could see nothing on the hillside but debris and shattered trees.

Horrible, irresistible curiosity drew his eyes down. Down to the rocks near the bottom of the hill, to the human hand lying stretched out from behind one of them.

"Mayu!" Shinn darted forward, praying to any god who might be listening that it wasn't what it appeared to be.

It was a human hand and arm, blasted off just above the elbow. Shinn could not stop himself from looking further, to the lumps of cooked and blasted flesh riddling the crater.

And the blood…

Shinn fell to his knees, reaching out to touch the severed hand, not wanting to believe its meaning. But something inside stopped him, even as it drove home the truth, spreading it like ice water into every fibre of his being.

He looked up, up into the sky, where the mobile suits duelled, not knowing, and not caring.

Shinn _screamed._

* * *

_**Now **_

_**Girty Lue, approaching the Debris Belt, October 3**__**rd**__**, CE 73. **_

"You completed your mission?"

The face on the screen put Neo in mind of a classical statue. It was deathly pale, its neatly-combed hair the colour of snow, its features so smooth and finely shaped as to have been carved from marble. It regarded him through dark, narrow eyes.

"We have the three prototypes, Lord Djibril. But there was a fourth prototype we didn't know about, and the _Minerva_'s acceleration is better than we anticipated."

"I suppose we'll have to settle for that." The face was expressionless, to the point where even Neo could not read it. It was, all things considered, a good sign. "Was the fourth superior?"

"I would say not, Lord Djibril. From what I could see, its superior performance was the work of the pilot, not the machine."

"So it is with _Coordinators_." Neo suppressed a smile. He was certain _that _would get a rise out of him. "I trust those three didn't give you _too_ much trouble?"

"No trouble at all. They did their part as well as could be expected. They are considerably more obedient than the first generation, and work better as a team. Apart from Auel using a block word on Stella, their performance was flawless."

"Very well. The machines?"

"We've finished the data downloads. They're everything we suspected they'd be and far more. You were right to order this mission, my Lord."

"The Coordinators will not rest until we are either destroyed or enslaved." Once again, Neo could sense that dark, deadly vehemence. "We need to accelerate our plans, and the technology of those mobile suits will prove useful. Make sure that you bring them home intact, Neo."

"Once I've got the _Minerva _off my back that should be no problem." Neo allowed himself to smile. "The debris belt is a dangerous place, after all."

"Do not fail me, Neo Roanoke." The screen went blank. Neo sat back in his seat, conflicting thoughts and feelings running through his mind.

They had managed to get away, at least for the moment. He was more than a little proud of that trick with the gas tanks. The enemy had been forced to expend potentially lethal shots blowing them away, and the bright flash had almost certainly blinded their scanners and ruined their targeting solutions. It had given him the precious moments he had needed to get a good lead on them.

It wasn't over yet. That ship would chase him to the ends of the solar system, either to retrieve or else destroy what he had stolen. He _knew_ it, in a way that very few people in all the solar system could hope to comprehend.

It was a common superstition among spacers that ships were in some way alive, that they had souls or personalities of their own, knowable only to those who could read the signs. Most non-spacers scoffed at such esoteric babble, thinking it more fitting of an older, darker age where the true nature of the universe was not so clear. Others saw it as an outgrowth of a human tendency to anthropomorphise, seeing human qualities in inanimate objects, a means of expressing their feelings.

Neither of those explanations applied to Neo Roanoke. What he saw, what he _felt_ in that ship was no artist's intuitions, nor some spacer's superstitions. He _knew_ that ship, as he knew his own body. There was pride, power, and confidence about it, all entirely justified. It was a proud and noble lion, whereas the _Girty_ _Lue_ was a crouching, cruel leopard, poised to strike and kill. Neo would have been pleased to command the _Minerva_, to have such power at his fingertips. In another life he might have done so.

Neo did not let himself be hampered by regrets. What could never be could never be, and there was no point in getting upset about it. He knew that he was above such pettiness, such petulance. What might have been had no bearing on what was.

It was an important fact to remember, especially when dealing with Extendeds.

He thought of the trio, sleeping in their biobeds, their every thought and feeling under constant observation. Few could have believed, had they seen them in action, that they had begun their lives as ordinary humans. They had been conceived, gestated, and born as the majority of their fellow humans had been. They had begun their lives as humans.

Until they drew the attention of the Extended project.

Neo did not know any of the details. Bruno Azrael was as picky about who he shared information with as his cousin had been, meaning that few outside the project knew where the subjects came from. Most of Phantom Pain's inductees were orphans, acquired by legal and bureaucratic legerdemain. But even then there would be a paper trail, something that someone sufficiently determined and with the right connections could trace. That was something neither Blue Cosmos, nor Phantom Pain, nor the Azrael family could afford in the case of the Extendeds.

A scornful smirk creased Neo's face. Such was their fear, such was their hatred, that the leaders of Blue Cosmos had been willing to do _anything_ to find their perfect weapon. But despite all their wealth, all their power, and all their determination, they had been unable to achieve it. And so long as they held the baseline human form sacrosanct, they would never be able to.

But not all of them had seen it that way. Some of them had been able to bend the rules a little, or at least put them in perspective. Those whose hatred of Coordinators far outweighed their love of Naturals. Those whose hatred was so strong that nothing was held sacred, not even their own doctrine.

Djibril had been chief among them. And now Djibril was in charge of Blue Cosmos. And like Neo, he did not see any reason to continue the Extended project, busted flush that it was. Doubtless Bruno Azrael was whispering and plotting behind his back, but Neo expected no better of the man. Ultimately it meant that the remaining Extendeds were nothing more than leftovers, resources to be expended.

Neo hardened his heart. He would not allow himself to pity them. He would use them without restraint, and destroy them without hesitation. Their existence was not his doing, their suffering was not his burden, their doom was not his crime. Their salvation was beyond his power, and nothing could be done.

Such was their fate.

The intercom buzzed, drawing Neo from his thoughts.

"Roanoke."

"We're coming up on Darien, Commander. ETA ten minutes."

"Thank you Lee."

Time to put his trap in place.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

The door slid open.

The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of a mobile suit hangar assailed Cagalli as she stepped out of the lift. Athrun was close behind her, a presence for which she felt profoundly grateful. Durandal stepped out to her left, accompanied by Rey za Burrell, a young man with long blond hair and suspicious eyes. They drifted effortlessly to the parapet of the observation walkway.

"I'm sure you're aware of the ZGMF-1000, the ZAKU," Durandal gestured at the mighty shapes, one red, one green, standing festooned with cables amid tall maintenance gantries. From the observation walkway where she stood, Cagalli could see the entire deck clearly.

It made her already much-abused head ache. The medics had done their best, but the bump she had taken inside the ZAKU's cockpit continued to irritate her.

"And then there's the _Impulse_, utilising a unique launch system. Durandal directed their attention towards a series of elevator platforms stacked at one end of the hangar. Each one carried one of that particular machine's interchangeable sections, with the Core fighter positioned logically at the top.

"I understand," Durandal turned to face her with evident pride, "that you had the opportunity to see it in action."

"Yes," Athrun answered for her, his tone uncertain. "We did."

"According to the designers," Durandal went on conversationally, "this is a completely new, highly efficient system. Then again," he gave her a superior smile, "I'd be the first to admit I'm not exactly knowledgeable in these matters." Cagalli did not hold his gaze for long. There was something in those eyes that set her teeth on edge. And that blond myrmidon of his was making it worse, looking at her as if she were giving off a bad smell.

"But I take it that the Princess does not much care for this?"

Cagalli knew he was trying to annoy her. She _knew_ that he was trying to provoke her, to goad her into mouthing off so he could shoot her down again. Knowing it didn't make it any easier to take.

"Well you seem happy about it, Mister Chairman." It was the best answer she could think of. Deflect the issue, buy herself some time.

"It's not that I'm _happy_ about it," Durandal mused, pretending to have been caught off-guard. "My feelings stem from the thought of how hard everyone is working, of how far they have come through so much adversity, and gained such strength."

"Such strength…" Cagalli chose her moment. "You said that strength is necessary because there will always be conflict, Mister Chairman." The smile fell momentarily from Durandal's face, as if he was wondering what she meant.

"Yes," he replied, the smile returning.

"Then how do you explain what happened here!" Cagalli demanded, letting her anger have its head. "Because of your new mobile suits, your nation has suffered terrible damage!"

"Representative!" Athrun almost barked. Cagalli knew she was treading on a tightrope, but was too angry to mince words.

"And therefore, you believe that we shouldn't have any power at all?" If the Chairman was in any way offended by her words, he made no show of it. In fact, he seemed merely amused, as if confronted by a presumptuous child.

"Why are such things necessary in the first place!" It was more than anger. It _galled_ Cagalli that he didn't even pretend to take her seriously, and over such a serious matter. It _enraged_ her that he could be so blasé, so cavalier. Did all the promises, all the pledges, mean nothing to him? Was all the killing a matter of indifference? Did Gilbert Durandal really not see that his actions were bringing the world closer to the brink of Armageddon? Or did he really just not care?

"We made a vow not to repeat the tragedies of the past!" she went on, her feelings too strong to be controlled. "We vowed to make a path we could walk on together!"

"That's true." Durandal could not have sounded more patronizing if he had patted her on the head. "However…"

"Idealism has always been House Athha's speciality, hasn't it!"

The words cut through the atmosphere like a blade. All turned towards its source, a young man in the red uniform of a ZAFT pilot, standing on the lower level. His hair was purple, his face turned away.

"Shinn!" blurted out of the green-uniformed deck personnel floating nearby.

"Shinn!" barked Rey, his evident outrage the first emotion other than low-grade suspicion Cagalli had seen on his face all day. As the blond myrmidon leapt the parapet, the boy called Shinn half-turned his head, revealing a tolerably handsome face, one gold eye gazing up at her in black and bitter loathing. Cagalli was transfixed, horrified and bewildered in equal measure.

"Enemy vessel detected! All stations to Condition Red! All pilots stand by!"

The voice from the PA, and the buzzing of the klaxon, defused the confrontation. Rey reached the lower floor, grabbing Shinn by his lapel. Shinn fought him off with a hiss of anger, then launched himself away.

"I'm very sorry Mister Chairman!" Rey stood to attention, looking up at the walkway. "He will be disciplined for his actions!" Rey snapped off a salute, then headed off after Shinn.

"My sincerest apologies Princess." To Cagalli's surprise, Durandal actually sounded serious. "I happen to know that young pilot, however distantly. He's an immigrant from Orb, and as such that kind of statement was the last thing I expected from him." Durandal closed his eyes, as if he genuinely found the whole thing rather embarrassing.

Cagalli looked away, wondering what she or her family had done to enrage the young man so.

* * *

_**Girty Lue**_

It was vast.

The O'Neill Island-3 cylinder was the largest free-floating orbital structure ever to be constructed by human hands. Like a great many of the Cosmic Era's wonders, it had been conceived centuries earlier. In the heady days of the First Space Age, when intrepid men and women had been hurled into orbit atop massive chemical rockets, the necessary technologies had not existed. Were it not for the Reconstruction Wars, such things would have come into being much sooner.

The O'Neill cylinder up ahead, just past the asteroid, was practically identical in concept to the hundreds of others orbiting the Earth, including Orb's newly-repaired Heliopolis. A gleaming cylinder, just over thirty kilometres long and eight kilometres in diameter. Three long strips of the longitudinal wall were translucent, each with a mirror array as long as the colony hinged at its end, reflecting sunlight inside. Rotating at forty times per hour, the cylinder would have provided hundreds of thousands of inhabitants with an environment not much different from that of Earth. The unique conditions inside would have been perfect for all manner of research, development, and construction. An O'Neill cylinder was a boon beyond compare to any state that could build and maintain one.

But not Darien.

Great Britain had poured all of its efforts into the colony's construction. Its leaders had sold Darien as a gateway to the future, the means by which their small country might once again achieve greatness. All of Britain's wealth had been poured into the project, and when the wealth ran out, they had begged and borrowed, living on hope and promises. The dream had just been too shiny, too bright and pure, for anyone to question it.

Now it drifted in the Debris Belt, a gutted wreck long since stripped of anything remotely salvageable, a reminder to future generations of the perils of hubris. The hopes and dreams of an entire nation reduced to a piece of refuse. The repercussions of that disastrous failure were playing out even then on the Earth below, in a crisis that might bring about the final war.

Captain Ian Lee did not much care. Like most who wore the black and grey uniform of Phantom Pain, he was beyond being emotionally stirred by such things. The relevant part of him had been wrung dry long ago. Not much remained of the hopeful, idealistic young man who had joined the Atlantic Federation space forces thirty years earlier.

How much had changed since then? The forties, when the space race seemed to be getting faster and faster. The decade that had seen so much hope, and so much change.

The decade when the Coordinator population hit ten million. And it all went downhill from there.

Lee did not allow himself to be bothered by it. Whatever sympathy he might have felt for the Coordinators had died long ago. The bright, burning hate had similarly been expended, burnt out in any one of a thousand battles. All that remained was what Phantom Pain had told him, not long after he accepted their job offer.

The Coordinators were doomed, yet they refused to accept their fate. They refused to face facts, to admit that there could never be a pure-bred nation of 'new humanity' enthroned among the stars. The Coordinators were a dying race, unable to reproduce among themselves, condemned to die childless amid their glory, or else swallow their pride and join with Naturals. But their pride was too great, too overweening. In their hubris, and their hate, they denied the horrible truth. They had girded themselves for war, fashioned a weapon of terrifying potency, sought to destroy the Earth that had given them life, to exterminate those who were their only hope.

For Phantom Pain, and for Ian Lee, there was but one option. For the sake of all humanity, for all those who lived upon the Earth, the false nation of the Coordinators would be destroyed.

He glanced sideways at the younger man seated in the chair next to his. Neo Roanoke sat straight, his blond hair cascading from underneath the helmet that concealed the upper half of his head, his face expressionless.

He knew who that man was. For that matter, he knew _what_ that man was. He was one of very few people privy to that information. What was more, he had a pretty good idea of what that man intended to do.

It did not matter.

"Distance to asteroid?" he asked aloud.

"Distance fourteen hundred and closing!" replied the helmsman.

"Status of hangar deck?"

"Deck reports all units ready," replied his Combat Operations Officer.

"Including those three?" Lee could not stop himself glancing again at Neo.

"Yes sir."

"Combat Ops, order all mobile suits to launch. Helm, lay in a course below the asteroid. Prepare to put Colonel Roanoke's plan into effect."

"Deck reports starboard catapult online! Port catapult online! Systems show green…launching!" Through the bridge's forward viewport, Lee could see two tiny shapes emerge from the _Girty Lue_'s open bow doors. Then two more, and then only one.

"Mobile suits away! Datalinks are green! Closing hangar doors!"

"I just hope your pilots are up to it," Lee said in a low voice that only Neo was close enough to hear.

"Come now Lee," Neo replied, giving him an indulgent smile. "Sam Alvarez may be an epicure, but he's one of the best pilots I've seen."

"It's not Lieutenant Alvarez I'm worried about."

"You mean those three." Neo sounded almost disappointed. "Wasn't their performance a few hours ago proof enough?"

"There's a lot riding on them doing their jobs right," Lee retorted, in no mood to be palmed off. "I've seen too many Extendeds screw up to have any confidence in them."

"_First Generation_ Extendeds," Neo reminded him. "You have to admit, those three are far superior performers. And if anything goes wrong, I'll go out there myself. Happy now?"

"Very well." Lee decided he was getting nowhere. Neo's skill in the _Exus_ was not to be sneezed at, but he didn't feel any better for it.

Nobody had expected space warfare to turn out as it had done. For decades it was almost holy writ that space wars would be fought by robots. Such thinking was the product of the late twentieth century, when people had begun to object to the fact that war generally involved the destruction of human life. They had wanted clean wars, painless, lawful, and above all, _just_.

Military robots reached their apogee, and their nadir, in the Reconstruction Wars. Few had tried to use them ever since, and for good reason. In the face of modern cyber-warfare, to give robots weapons was to have those weapons turned back against you. There had been many terrible incidents, magnified in the public imagination by books like Yuri Goto's _Silicon Heart, Bloody Hand_, and movies like the _Robot Rampage_ series, and the more highbrow _Night of the Iron Men. _

In the Cosmic Era, wars were fought by human beings, albeit clothed in advanced technology and aided by robots in certain contexts. The particulars of space warfare had been laid down decades ago, back when the old _Moebius_ mobile armours were state of the art. Those particulars had not much changed with the coming of the mobile suit. They were just better at it. Mobile suits might be expensive, and the death of a pilot tragic, but even the most expensive mobile suit was cheap compared to a warship, in material _and_ operational terms. That meant that damaging a warship with mobile suits before the main clash, even if some of them were lost, was economically worthwhile.

Lee knew, both from his training and from experience, what happened when an unsupported warship faced a warship with mobile suits in support. If those three Extendeds screwed up and got themselves killed, or allowed themselves to be lured away, the _Girty Lue_ would be at an extreme disadvantage.

"Passing asteroid!" called the helmsman. "Entering range for anchor target!"

"Cast anchor as you bear!" Neo called. It was _his_ plan after all. "Launch the decoy after firing." He smirked. "Get the timing right on this."

"T-minus eight seconds!" counted the helmsman. "T-minus seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…firing!"

Lee could see the anchor fly, the tiny light of its rocket engine racing away towards the vast bulk of the asteroid, looming menacingly in the forward viewport.

"Anchor has impacted! Anchor is holding!"

It was like something out of a very old movie, or an acrobatics act. Having cut engines several minutes earlier, the _Girty Lue_ had drifted towards the asteroid on momentum, aiming itself with vernier thrusters. Neo's idea was to use the anchor as one might swing on a rope or trapeze, maintaining momentum while sling-shotting around the asteroid. It all depended on making sure that not too much strain was put on the high-tension anchor cable.

Lee felt the ship begin to swing. He winced at the sound of metal straining, wondering what the yard crew would say when they got back to base.

_If _they got back to base.

* * *

Shinn Asuka gritted his teeth.

He was angry. He was _furious_. That they had to ferry Cagalli Yula Athha around was bad enough. But for her to keep on spouting that pacifistic claptrap, to the Chairman's face, in the presence of ZAFT soldiers, was more than he could tolerate.

"_They haven't changed_!" he thought, gripping the _Impulse_'s joysticks a little too hard. "_Damn them! Damn them all to hell!_"

She was no different to her father. Her father, Uzumi Nara Athha, who had condemned Orb to burn rather than compromise on his precious ideals. Uzumi Nara Athha, who had betrayed those very ideals by building mobile suits for the Earth Alliance, then stonewalled when the inevitable betrayal came. Uzumi Nara Athha, who by his own cowardice and incompetence had cast his nation into the flame.

And still she spouted those ideals. Still she talked about _treaties_ and _obligations_ and _promises_, as if those things really meant anything. She would have the PLANTs throw away their weapons, leave themselves naked and defenceless before a hostile world. She had the gall to browbeat the Coordinators for staying out of a war that was not yet their own, for failing to weep copious tears as the Earth Alliance, which had caused them so much misery, tore itself apart.

All because her precious Orb might be in danger. All because she was _scared. _Scared of the new world that was coming, a world in which Coordinators might be a little bit better off.

Shinn knew which one he would choose.

"I didn't score so well in debris battles," grumbled a familiar voice. Shinn glanced down at the comm display, which confirmed it to be Luna.

"They must have seen us by now," he replied, his focus returning. "Stay alert."

All right, he shouldn't have said it out loud. He could accept that his conduct in the hangar was not what was expected of ZAFT soldiers. Rey had given him enough of an earful about how he had embarrassed the Chairman, and how he would have to apologise for it later.

He would apologise to the Chairman if the Captain insisted. But nothing would make him apologise to the Athha. Not the threat of the brig, nor even of being kicked out of ZAFT. He had been told more than once that his anger would cost him, but it was better than the alternative.

Shinn glanced around, peering through the drifting debris for any sight of the enemy ship. Silently bemoaning his field of vision, he tweaked the _Impulse_'s head, moving his perspective up and down, left and right. Still nothing, except for Lunamaria's red ZAKU and the two green ZAKUs that had launched along with them.

For a moment Shinn was mystified. The space around him might be filthy with wreckage of every conceivable variety, but he should have seen _something_. Unless someone on the _Minerva _had gotten the calculations wrong, the enemy ship should be right in front of him. It couldn't have gone far, not with that much junk floating around.

So where was it?

Shinn felt sick. It was the same sick, cold feeling he had felt on that terrible day two years earlier, the knowledge of a horrible truth. The enemy had evaded them. Bogey One had managed to give them the slip, and could be just about anywhere.

He glanced down at his scanner screen, and resisted the urge to switch to active scanning. If the enemy hadn't seen him already, they certainly would if he did. ZAFT doctrine held that stealth was to be maintained until the last possible moment.

But what was the point if _he_ couldn't see _them_? Surely there was no advantage?

A sudden flash of colour on his screen decided the matter for him.

"Heat flare!" he yelled, jabbing frantically at the scanner console and hauling on the joystick with his other hand. Spinning _Impulse_ round, he could see the enemy mobile suit diving in, drum-shaped gunpods launching from its back.

_Chaos._

Luna and Dale were also breaking, but Shawn was just a fraction too slow. Shinn could only watch, stomach clenched, as the _Chaos_ and its gunpods bracketed the green ZAKU in a hail of emerald bolts. One of them hit, then another, then another, until the ZAKU vanished in a sphere of light.

"Shawn!" Lunamaria screamed over the comm. Shinn gritted his teeth.

"Scatter!" he ordered. "Take them one on one!" _Gaia_ and _Abyss_ were diving in too, forcing Lunamaria and Dale to evade. Shinn focussed his attention on _Chaos_, only to be distracted by a beeping from his scanner console. He looked down, and his brow furrowed in surprise as he saw what was unmistakeably a warship contact.

"Bogey One?"

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Three heat sources! Bearing six-two mark seven-five!" called the Sensor Officer.

"Active scanners! Identify!" Talia Gladys managed to maintain her composure. To her relief, and pleasure, her bridge crew were doing likewise, even her CIC Meyrin Hawke.

"Contacts are mobile suits!" Meyrin called back, as the data scrolled across her screens. "Negative transponders! Registry is checking…_Chaos, Gaia, _and _Abyss_!"

"Find Bogey One!" Talia snapped. "Find that ship now!"

Though she did her best to conceal it, her heart was pounding like a drum, her nerves stinging in fear and anticipation. The enemy Captain had deceived her, and could be just about anywhere. The only thing she knew for certain was that he had to be close by, for there was no way he could get away quickly through all that debris. He had either rigged for cold running in order to slip away unnoticed, or else he was under power and stalking her.

Talia cursed herself. She should have seen it coming. Instead, in her haste and desire not to lose track of the enemy, she had blundered right into a trap.

It was _him,_ so a part of her insisted. Him, whose gaze she could feel boring into the back of her head. Him, who had waltzed back into her life and turned it upside down.

She halted the train of thought, damning herself for a petulant fool. It didn't matter how many Heads of State were sitting on her bridge, and it mattered even less what had passed between herself and one of them. She was the Captain, the master and commander. She should not have allowed herself to feel pressured, or to let her feelings cloud her judgement.

"Countermeasures!" she ordered. "Ready a full spread."

"Heat bloom, two-nine-five mark four-six!" barked the SO. "Range five-hundred k and closing!"

Talia gritted her teeth. The enemy was behind her, and mere seconds from weapons range.

"Countermeasures fire on my mark!"

"Energy spike!" yelled the SO, sounding close to panic. "Enemy is charging guns!"

"Fire countermeasures!" The flares leapt from their silos, detonating in bright flashes as Bogey Oneopened fire with its beam cannons. The flares burned bright, their penumbra intersecting in a halo around the _Minerva_, diffracting the deadly beams as they passed. But they could not stop them all, and Talia felt the ship shudder.

"Damage report!"

"Glancing hits aft! No damage reported!" Talia controlled her breathing, willing her heart to still. They had gotten lucky, but she knew only too well that their luck could soon run out.

She thought fast. The fighting Captain in her wanted to break away from the asteroid and face the enemy head-on, letting the _Minerva_ use its maximum firepower. But such a course would be risky, either committing the _Minerva_ to a long, easily-predictable turn, or else executing a spot-turn and hoping the enemy didn't blast her before she could bring her guns to bear. The alternative was to stick close to the asteroid, getting around and out of Bogey One's line of sight long enough to change heading and deploy Rey.

"Reload countermeasures! Bring us in close to the asteroid!" She felt the inertia shift as the _Minerva_'s heading changed slightly, easing into the canyon that ran the circumference of the asteroid. With any luck, the enemy would have trouble discerning them against such a backdrop.

"Multiple contacts! Missiles inbound! Impact T-minus sixty seconds!"

"Captain!" Commander Trine was looking as stressed as she felt. "Shall we launch countermeasures?"

"Negative!" Launching them now would be an amateur's mistake. The flares would stop the missiles, but the effect would fade before new countermeasures could be loaded and launched. That would be just the opening Bogey One's beam cannons needed. "Ready turrets to intercept!"

"Turrets show green! Missiles closing! T-minus thirty seconds!"

"Captain!" It was Meyrin. "Captain, there's something wrong with the missiles! Their course isn't quite right!"  
"What do you mean?" Talia hoped for Meyrin's sake that it was important.

"The angle's too deep! They'll hit the asteroid instead of us!" For a fraction of an instant, Talia wondered what it could possibly mean.

It clicked.

"Hard to Port! Maximum thrusters! Get us away from the asteroid!"

The Minerva's CIWS turrets opened fire, sending streams of tracer out into the void. Some of the missiles were struck, the g-forces tearing their weakened frames apart. But others pressed on, racing past the _Minerva_ and ploughing into the asteroid. They detonated on cue, even as the _Minerva_'s vernier thrusters ignited, showering the ZAFT warship with rock fragments. The rocks rent and tore at the warship's armoured hull, denting and cracking it. But the _Minerva _soared free, curving away into open space.

With some of the sensor arrays damaged by the rocks, and the rest blinded by the shower of fragments, they did not see the two mobile suits emerge from the canyon ahead of them. The two machines, one red, one black, pushed themselves off the asteroid like swimmers, firing their engines to bring themselves into range. Approaching along the _Minerva_'s blinded starboard side, no one saw them coming. The red machine still wore the same IWSP Striker Pack it had worn a few hours earlier, while the black machine wore the 'Launcher' version, its main feature a single 320mm _Agni _beam cannon.

The pair fired as they passed, particle beams and railgun rounds tearing into the already damaged armour with lethal accuracy. Whole compartments were blasted open, the escaping air hurling unfortunate men and women into the void. The starboard launch tunnel took a hit, erupting in a shower of sparks, though by some divine mercy the explosion did not spread into the hangar deck. The two machines fired, and fired again, until momentum them past the _Minerva_ and out into space.

* * *

Shinn was fighting for his life.

With Shawn and Dale gone, it was three on two. But whereas _Gaia_ seemed to have fixated on Lunamaria, the other two were persecuting him.

He threw _Impulse_ into a rolling spiral, the shots from _Chaos_'s gunpods flashing silently past. _Chaos_ did likewise, trying to get back on his tail and bracket him with the gunpods as it had Shawn less than a minute earlier.

Explosions blossomed across space to Shinn's right. It was Lunamaria, her M1500 _Orthros_ beam cannon tearing up the debris, but without any apparent effect. Shinn found himself wishing she hadn't brought the heavy gun. Destructive as it was, it was practically useless against small, manoeuvrable targets like mobile suits, especially high-performance machines like the stolen prototypes.

It was nobody's fault. They were supposed to be chasing Bogey One, and she had Shawn, Dale, and himself as escorts in any case. It should have been more than enough.

Shinn gritted his teeth as he rolled again. Who were these enemies? Who could be so capable as to take down trained Coordinator pilots that easily? Who was making him fight for his life?

Who was making him fail his friend?

He glanced around, looking for a way out. His gaze fell on a large cylindrical module, probably left over from some even older space station. An oblong corridor was cut into it, seemingly running the length of the module.

Seemingly.

Shinn boosted for the module, knowing he was out of options. He dived down the corridor, the long metal walls seeming to loom around him. Neither of his assailants followed.

"_Okay, if I can just…_"

"Shinn!" It was Lunamaria. An instant later her red ZAKU crashed through the translucent smaller wall, slamming back-first into the opposite wall. Shinn pressed down his right foot, the verniers firing to aim him side-ways on, facing the translucent wall. He keyed for the beam cannons, the two huge weapons swing up under the _Impulse_'s arms into position at its hips. As he passed over the stricken ZAKU Shinn fired, the deadly beams lancing out through the hole and so very nearly hitting the incoming _Gaia_. The black mobile suit broke sideways and blazed away, its chance lost.

"Thanks Shinn! I owe you!" Lunamaria sounded like she meant it.

"Can you move?" he asked, giving her red ZAKU a quick look-over. It didn't seem damaged.

"I'm okay."

"All right, straight out this way, we'll head for the _Minerva_."

"Right!"

Shinn boosted the _Impulse_ out through the hole, Lunamaria following after.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

Talia gripped the armrests hard, her fingers digging into the upholstery, as Arthur read out the report.

"Starboard catapult offline. Starboard main engines offline. Starboard _Tristan_ and tubes inoperative."

"Engineering reports reactor is stable. Power distribution seriously compromised."

"Medical reports heavy casualties."

"Hull ruptures on all decks to Starboard. Ruptured compartments confirmed sealed. Multiple fires on deck seven through fifteen. Fire crews report fires are contained."

She had failed. She had screwed up, big time. Her ship was maimed, several of her crew dead, and two mobile suits were on their own.

It was her fault. She was in command. She had not considered that the enemy might try an ambush. She had underestimated Bogey One.

Her fault.

"Don't we have any more mobile suits?" Durandal asked, speaking for the first time since the battle had begun.

"We're out of pilots!" Talia snapped, and instantly wished she hadn't.

She should not have let it slip out. She knew that others felt the same way, that they were wanted to give that boy behind her a piece of their minds, but that did not make it right. Be he Alex Dino or Athrun Zala, sending him into battle in a one-armed ZAKU was utter lunacy.

"What is Bogey One's status?" she managed to ask, through the dark clouds of self-hatred fogging her mind.

"300 k and closing, decelerating."

They were coming in for the kill. They would close to within one hundred kilometres, at which distance they were almost guaranteed to hit even against countermeasures, and either pound the _Minerva_ to scrap or cripple it enough to close and board. The latter was always risky, but a reasonable choice when the enemy was seemingly helpless.

Seemingly helpless.

"Cut power to all systems."

"Captain?" Arthur was incredulous, and he wasn't the only one.

"That's an order, Arthur!" Talia snarled. The force of her tone was enough to make him obey.

"_Let them think we are crippled. Let them think we are helpless._"

"Meyrin."

"Yes Captain?" She sounded so very young.

"Listen to my orders very carefully. Rig countermeasures for time delay, then prepare to fire them straight at Bogey One. Also, rig the _Neidhart_s in the Port tubes for contact detonation. Did you get all that?"

"Yes Captain."

"Send word to Engineering," she turned to Arthur, who was looking at her as if she had sprouted horns. "Have them prepare to transfer reactor power directly to the Port _Tristan _on my order and not before. Time will be of the essence if this is to work."

"Yes Captain."

* * *

_**Girty Lue**_

"Target is powering down!" called the SO. "Target is drifting!"

"What's the status of their reactor?" Lee asked.

"Reactor appears online!"

"Tactical! Status report!"

"Capacitors at point eight! Tubes are reloading!"

Lee tried hard to control his impatience. It was a rare thing to have an enemy so completely at bay, just waiting for the killing blow. He knew they had taken serious engine damage, for he had seen Alvarez and his companion score their hits. That the _Minerva_ was also losing power meant that the ship's power distribution network had been damaged also.

An overconfident or sadistic Captain would drag it out for as long as possible, savouring the moment of victory. But Lee had no such intentions. He wanted to get the matter over with before something happened.

"Enemy is launching countermeasures!" A last gasp of defiance no doubt, or an attempt to buy time.

"Status of their weapons?"

"No change!" Evidently they weren't trying anything. If they meant to fire the beam cannons, the energy spike as they fed power into the capacitors, or even straight into the guns, would have been detectable by now.

But then, why were the countermeasures taking so long to detonate?

"What's the status of those countermeasures?"

"Captain," the SO sounded confused. "They're coming this way?"

"This way?" Lee was incredulous. Why would they…?

The countermeasures detonated, filling the viewports with blinding light for the instant it took for the windows to darken.

"Evasion! Raise bow forty degrees! Engines to maximum!"

The _Girty Lue_'s massive hull rotated, aiming the bow upward to escape. Out of the blinding glare came four tiny shapes, speeding inexorably onward. The _Neidhart_ missiles, flying blind to avoid the effects of the flares, tore into the _Girty Lue's_ underside. One penetrated the aft section, coming dangerously close to the starboard engine cluster, but failed to detonate. Another struck the central pylon, punching up through several decks before detonating. The third hit the Port forward section, blasting through into the launch catapult, and but for the heavy blast door would have turned the hangar deck into an inferno. The final missile struck the ventral _Gottfreid_ beam cannon turret on the same section, blowing it up and detonating the full-charged capacitor.

The _Girty Lue_ lurched to starboard as the entire lower half of the Port forward section blew out. Dozens of crew members were blasted to ash in the blink of an eye, while their comrades elsewhere were sent flying into bulkheads with bone-cracking force. It was only thanks to the heavily-armoured bulkheads, designed for just such an eventuality, that the explosion did not spread to the other turrets and their capacitors.

But it was not over yet. As the stricken _Girty Lue_ rolled over, the _Minerva_ aimed its one remaining _Tristan_ turret straight at the _Girty Lue's_ vulnerable belly. The beams struck true, perforating the already wounded warship.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Multiple hits confirmed! Enemy is withdrawing!"

Talia felt as if she was sinking into her chair. The icy claws loosened their grip on her heart. They were out of danger.

"You _did_ it Captain!" Arthur proclaimed, eyes bright.

"I did _nothing_!" Talia snapped back, frustration and shame rising to replace the fading terror.

"_Nothing,_" she thought, "_but get caught with my pants around my ankles._" Arthur looked crestfallen.

"Please excuse my presumption Captain," Durandal spoke up. As she turned her chair to face him, she saw _that_ smile on his face. "But I feel I must add my approbation to that of the Commander. Your manoeuvre was as daring as it was deadly, and there can be no doubt that it saved all our lives."

"I feel the same way," Cagalli added. "Thank you, Captain Gladys."

"If you please, Chairman, Chief Representative," Talia changed the subject. "Matters are not yet concluded." She turned to Meyrin. "What's Shinn and Lunamaria's status?"

"Their batteries are running low, Captain," Meyrin replied, glancing over her screens. "_Impulse_ is at eighteen percent, the ZAKU Warrior at eleven percent. They seem to still be in combat with _Chaos, Gaia, _and _Abyss._"

"Recall them, and order Rey to prepare to launch."

"Yes Captain."

* * *

"Alas, poor Neo," quipped Samuel Alvarez, watching the _Girty Lue_'s predicament with a smile on his face. "I knew him well Soryu."

"We should intervene, sir," his companion replied, his voice betraying no emotion. "It would be troublesome if we had to return home in our mobile suits."

"That it would, little dragon," Alvarez replied, using his companion's old nickname. The thought of having to drift all the way back to the Moon did not appeal. "Besides, I like the idea of Neo being in my debt for once."

"Yes sir."

"Then again," Alvarez regarded the _Minerva_ for a moment. "They don't seem to be going anywhere." As if to press the point, Alvarez' console began to beep rather insistently.

"The recall," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. "We had best go."

"Yes sir." As they boosted towards the retreating _Girty Lue_, Alvarez wondered at his companion's cold efficiency. He sometimes wondered if there was anything in all the universe that could elicit an emotional response from him.

Then again, it wasn't all that surprising. Not considering who and indeed what Kensuke Soryu was.

"Good shooting, by the way," he said by way of a compliment.

"Thank you sir." Still nothing. "Your shooting was…effective, sir."

"Effective, Soryu?" An opinion was better than nothing.

"Effective, sir." And that was about all he was likely to get out of the man. Alvarez was about to issue a witty comment when his comm crackled, the noise been suddenly followed by a stream of abuse.

"And good afternoon to you Auel."

"You damn useless epicure!" the blue-haired Extended's voice shrieked from the speaker. "Where the hell where you? You were supposed to back us up!"

"We were a tad busy," Alvarez replied, in an exaggerated casual tone he just knew would drive Auel up the wall. "Carrying out our mission."

"We lost those two because of you!" Auel yelled. "And you let the ship get smashed up too! Now Neo's gonna be pissed!"

"Oh _dear_," Alvarez drawled sarcastically. "And there was me thinking you could handle one or two mobile suits."

"I'll get you Alvarez!" Auel roared. "And your little dragon too!"  
"That's enough Auel," Sting Oakley's voice interjected. "You think you're the only one who's frustrated?"

"And how about you, little lady?" Alvarez turned his attention to Stella, ignoring their argument. There was no reply.

"Pretty girl," he commented, mostly to himself. "But no personality."

* * *

_**The Debris Belt**_

Junius Seven.

Specifically Junius Seven Beta, the 'lower' of the two hemispheres that had once made up the Junius Seven colony. It had begun its life as a resource asteroid, one of hundreds launched towards the Earth from the asteroid belt before the Reconstruction Wars. It had been picked clean in the early years of the Cosmic Era, then carved into a hemisphere to form one end of a Productive Location Ally on Nexus Technology colony, as they were known at the time.

It had been an agricultural colony, one of the ten that made up the Junius City of the PLANT state. It had been one of several repurposed for food production in CE-69, part of an effort by the newly-founded ZAFT organisation to render the PLANTs functionally independent from Earth.

Of course, to the Earth Alliance such a move was intolerable. Its response was to order Oppose Militancy and Neutralise Invasion or OMNI as the EA's military arm was known, to deploy the warship _Roosevelt_ to Junius Seven as a show of force. It had not remained a show however, for the ZAFT warships present had no intention of putting up with such behaviour. Officially no one knew exactly what happened next, beyond that one of the _Roosevelt_'s complement of _Moebius_ mobile armours had somehow been fitted with a nuclear missile, which was not on the ship's manifest and which no one could remember being loaded, stored, or fitted. The footage of what happened next had become iconic, as iconic as the old nuclear detonation videos from the twentieth century, documentary evidence of man's inhumanity to man.

So much blood had been shed over that terrible tragedy. There had been so much said, and so much soul-searching. Had the crew of the _Roosevelt_ really not known what they were doing? What about the pilot of the _Moebius_ who fired the deadly shot? Rumours abounded as to his, or in some cases _her_ fate. Some said he had killed himself in a fit of remorse, while others thought he was a Blue Cosmos plant, no doubt proud of what he did. Most likely he had died in battle, like countless others in the war that followed, becoming just another name on a war memorial.

The man looking upon Junius Seven Beta knew about all that. He could even accept it. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that over two-hundred-thousand Coordinators had been killed in the blink of an eye, most either incinerated in the blast or asphyxiated in a few, mercifully painless minutes as the air rushed out, their bodies left to drift, inviolate, among the ruins of their homes.

What mattered was that Naturals would always hate Coordinators. No amount of understanding would change that fact.

So the man thought as he looked upon Junius Seven Beta. It looked to him like some giant overturned jellyfish, with the high-tension cables snaking out behind it like long gossamer fronds. It was anything but absurd, though.

To him, it was not a question of national honour, or avenging the murdered innocents. It was more than that, far beyond that.

It was _personal_.

"Solar wind velocity is constant," came a familiar voice from the comm. "Estimated thirty seconds until clear level S-three is achieved."

"How is unit nine?" he asked.

"It'll be done shortly sir."

The man scanned his eyes over the work. Only someone as close as he was would be able to see his comrades, his brothers and sisters in the final mission. He could see their mobile suits every now and again, moving between the tree-like cables, keeping an eye on the robots as they completed their work. The mobile suits were the best, in his opinion at least. ZGMF-1017M2 GINN High Manoeuvre Type II, improved versions of ZAFT's iconic GINN mobile suit. The man was grateful to his benefactors for providing them. To him, GINNs were true ZAFT mobile suits, not like the new ZAKUs. Those mechs were tainted, too much like the copycat mobile suits of the Earth Alliance. Better the GINNs, the pure work of free Coordinators.

They were painted black and purple. Very appropriate.

The man felt a shiver of rage as he thought of what had happened. It was unbearable to him, as it was to his fellows, how weak and corrupt ZAFT had become since Patrick Zala's murder. It galled him that he had felt hope, _hope, _when that snake Gilbert Durandal had swept the traitorous Clyne party aside and took power. He had actually believed that Durandal would set things right.

Instead of which, he had set about bending ZAFT to his own dark will. With lies, libels, and dark secrets, he had driven the last true patriots from the ranks of ZAFT, the few who might resist his so-called _reforms_. Reforms that tainted ZAFT with the archaic and sclerotic structures and rituals of the Earth forces, the forces he and his fellows had run ragged so many times.

And even they had turned upon him. The moment he dared voice his concerns, his so-called comrades had begun to whisper behind his back. _Fascist_, they called him. _Nationalist_, they muttered when they thought he could not hear. _Zalaite_.

What they called him in disgust, he would wear with pride. To bear Patrick Zala's name was no disgrace, for the path he had set out was the right one. The Coordinators were one race, indivisible and inviolate, the sons and daughters of George Glenn. They must either remake the world for their children, or else be utterly destroyed.

"Presence of colloidal particles confirmed," came the voice again. "Permission to start countdown."

The man did not hesitate. There could be no going back.

"Initiate countdown."

"Initiating countdown." He could see one of the robots nearby, standing over what appeared to be a black slab set into the central column. It reached out with insectile legs, pressing the buttons on the enormous keypad, the numbers shifting on the screen.

"Flare motor activation in ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…nominal particle level achieved…Flare motor activated."

The blue light on the flare motor's screen winked out, replaced by a red glow as the device came online. Within seconds the others did likewise, glowing like malevolent eyes in the darkness.

"Junius Seven has begun to move."

The man raised his GINN's right hand to its head, in ironic mimicry of the military salute. He glanced down at his console, where the photographs had been taped. One showed a young woman, eyes bright with joy and hope. Another showed her in the arms of a young man. The third showed that same young man, clad in the green uniform of ZAFT.

"Alan…Christie," the man whispered. "It won't be long now." The man, who had left his name and his life behind, looked up at the shape that had haunted his nightmares for three long years. Junius Seven, the symbol of all that he and so many others had lost.

"Now go! Our tombstone!" he roared, a dark and terrible exultation drowning out his regret. "Fall upon this deceitful world! Fall upon those who have forgotten the cries of sorrow! Fall upon those who deny the truth!"

* * *

_**Jovian Dawn**_

Daniel strode along the corridor, hand snapping to his brow to return the salute of a passing crewman.

He knew he should be keeping his countenance under better control. He should not be walking fast or looking worried. But it wasn't something he had the time to deal with.

Not after what he had heard from the bridge.

He reached the end of the corridor, the doors sliding open to permit him access to the vertical transit tube. He glanced up and down, then stepped with practiced ease into the tube. Outside the rotating section that provided the corridor with gravity, Daniel needed only to grab the rail and pull himself up.

Except once he did so it was no longer 'up', but straight ahead. It was one of space travel's little peculiarities, and growing up in the Kingdom of Jupiter had given him more than enough opportunity to get used to it. All the same it still amazed him sometimes how much ground one could cover while weightless.

As such, it was only a matter of minutes before he approached his destination. The bridge was located inside a tower located about two thirds of the way along the main hull. The bridge itself was located at the centre of the tower, well-protected by layer upon layer of armour, ranging from the thin outer layer to the metres-thick inner layers.

As Daniel reached the lowermost deck of the tower, a figure floated out into the tunnel. As he drew closer, and the figure glanced down to look at him, he realised who it was.

"Captain!" he called, halting himself next to her and saluting.

"Prince Daniel." Captain Juno Moneta returned the salute with a slight smile and a twinkle in her eyes. She was about his own height, with black hair and skin slightly darker than his own. "Would you care to accompany me?"

"Yes Captain." The pair floated along in silence, and Daniel started to feel awkward. He had come to greatly admire the Captain over the two-year-long voyage, and not simply because of her record. Juno Moneta had already been the most respected and decorated Captains in the Royal Jovian Space Fleet when she was chosen to command the _Jovian Dawn. _But it was during the voyage, when he lived, and trained under her authority, that he had come to understand how and why she had come so far.

He wanted to believe that she respected him in turn, or that she at least found him worthy. The only indication he had was that she had not issued any complaints regarding his conduct or progress in over a year. And he knew from experience that, while entirely respectful and not stooping to emotional blackmail or bullying, she was not shy about saying what needed to be said. If she had a problem with him, he could count on her to say so, as he could with his companions.

She had not said anything. She had given him neither praise nor criticism. Was that a good sign? He could not say, and would not lower himself to fish for compliments.

He wondered if he would find it in himself to ask her the question, whether she would allow him the opportunity to prove himself once and for all.

All at once they reached the corridor leading to the upper bridge deck. Captain and Prince eased themselves effortlessly into the corridor, the artificial gravity provided by the rotating sections pressing them onto the deck. The door slid open as they approached.

"Officer, _pre-sent_! The Royal Marine guards snapped to attention as they passed. Juno returned the salute, and Daniel did likewise. He felt a little self-conscious as he followed Juno to the map table, where the _Jovian Dawn_'s senior officers were waiting. He could feel the gazes of the bridge crew upon him, at least those who could see him. He knew that he was invisible to those on the lower bridge, where most of the duty stations were located. He took the time to glance at those watching him, returning their salutes so as to let them return to their duties. He could not bear the thought of causing a disruption.

The assembled officers turned and saluted as they approached. Most of them, like Juno, wore the uniform of the Royal Jovian Space Fleet, consisting of dark blue jacket, pants, and beret, with black collar, belt, cuffs, and boots. Some of those present wore black jackets, with while berets, collars, cuffs, and belts, marking them as members of the Royal Jovian Space Marines. He recognized Colonel Vissari Messa, with her short blonde hair and hard eyes, commander of the _Jovian Dawn's _three-thousand-strong Marine Brigade. And not just any brigade, but the legendary 3rd Brigade, whose battle honours ran from Arcadia Dome to Tannhauser Gate. Some of the Marine officers wore the gold lanyard marking them as proven battlepod pilots.

"Report," Juno said, returning the salutes as she stepped up to the map table.

"Opticon has detected movement in the debris belt," replied Commander Ilumina Ark, her second-in-command. "One of the larger objects has shifted in its orbit."

"Show me," the Captain ordered. Commander Ark stepped up to the map table's main control panel. An instant later the table shimmered into life, the image centring on a vast hemisphere that looked as if it had been carved out of an asteroid.

"How large is it?" Daniel asked.

"Opticon scaled it at eight kilometres in diameter," replied Lieutenant Desantos, the Sensor officer. "Estimated mass is over one hundred gigatons."

"Project estimated orbital shift," ordered Juno. The table responded, a bright line extending from the hemisphere and stretching around the planet. Around and around, in an inward spiral. Daniel felt his blood run cold.

"_Bitter Rain_," someone whispered, saying aloud what all of them were thinking.

"Captain Moneta," came a stern voice, breaking the mood somewhat. Daniel looked up to see who it was.

Feretrius Brand, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary, wore a look of mild irritation as strode up to the map table. He was an impressive sight, with a lantern jaw, long patrician nose and high forehead, his neatly arranged hair a sophisticated shade of grey. His relatively pale skin marked him as being of Founder stock, while his grey eyes attested to a keen intellect and sharp presence of mind. Just to look at him was to understand why he had been chosen as Jupiter's ambassador for the mission. No one else in the Kingdom had the credentials, or the experience, of which he could boast.

"Ambassador," Juno acknowledged Brand with a nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"I trust this is important, Captain." Brand managed to conceal his irritation, inclining his head to Daniel in quick greeting. "I know you would not…_by his grace…" _

The last he uttered as he saw the object's course on the map. Daniel began to wonder whether the ambassador's reputation as a useless prig was undeserved. He was nothing if not quick on the uptake.

"As you can see, ambassador," Ark explained, for what must have felt like the umpteenth time. "That particular object is entering a decaying orbit."

"I see." The ambassador's customary _sang froid_ reasserted itself. "It would appear we came all this way to witness an extinction-level event." No one laughed.

"I can't believe they would let it fall," Daniel said, speaking for the first time. "Surely they must have noticed by now."

"We've detected course corrections by multiple contacts." Lieutenant Takano, the Tactical Officer, tapped at his panel. Four ship icons winked into being, each one at the end of a long curving line representing its previous route. Two were in a pair, diverting from what looked like a patrol orbit, while two more approached from different directions via the debris belt.

"Have you identified them?" Juno asked.

"They look to be the same types as those defending the hourglass colonies." The lieutenant gestured at the pair. "I'm sure the others are warships too, judging by the configuration."

"They are responding," Juno mused. "But will it be enough?" There was a long and rather awkward pause.

"Captain," Daniel broke the silence, looking Juno straight in the eyes. "We did not come all this way to watch the Earth die. We should intervene."

Daniel could feel her eyes upon him, and those of all the others. Despite his status, he knew that he was present on the Captain's sufferance, and that she had been far more tolerant than he had any right to expect. Part of him wished he had not spoken, that he had not drawn their attention. Though he did not sense any hostility or scorn, it did not make their gazes any easier to bear.

"Lieutenant Hirata," Juno mercifully turned her attention to the Navigation Officer, generally known as the Nav. "Can we get there in time?"

"At maximum acceleration we can be there in a few hours," the Lieutenant replied. "But that's taking risks with the orbit. One mistake and we could fly right into the planet."

"I hardly think," Brand interjected, "that officers of his Majesty's Space Fleet are incapable of so simple a manoeuvre as approaching a planet at a degree of speed."

"With respect, ambassador." It was obvious that Lieutenant Hirata did not appreciate Brand's tone. "It's not as simple as it sounds. We must calculate our acceleration and deceleration precisely to avoid coming up short or overshooting. That we have to start from a course correction only makes it harder, since we'll need even more Delta-V to break out of our existing orbit." The Nav tapped at his keyboard, and a glowing line snaked across the image, showing the _Jovian Dawn_'s intended path.

"Are you saying it can't be done, Lieutenant?" Juno's gaze was as cold as a neutron star.

"No Captain. But our best chance is if we start the course correction within the hour. It's only going to get harder after that."

All eyes were on the Captain. They all expected a decision, and those who knew her well knew what the decision would be.

"Lieutenant Hirata, send your flight plan to Engineering. Intercom, order all stations to prepare for emergency course change and acceleration." With that, the assembled officers turned and headed for their posts. Juno turned her eyes to Daniel, who had not moved.

"You may remain on the bridge if you wish, your Highness." The coldness in her eyes was replaced with warmth, and a touch of amusement. "Full acceleration is a rare experience, and not to be missed."

"Thank you, Captain." Daniel drew himself up. The time had come. "Captain, if it should happen that we enter combat, I ask your permission to sortie. Please permit me to defend this ship."

Juno did not reply straight away, and Daniel began to fear that she would refuse. Under Jovian law, his safety was her responsibility, and as such she had certain rights over him. One of those rights was that certain courses of action, which included piloting a battlepod into action, required her express permission. It was her right, and her duty, to refuse him if she thought it necessary. Daniel understood, but that would not make the humiliation any more bearable if she did. To go into battle, to share the danger, was the only way he could prove himself, that there was that something inside him that had no name, but that all soldiers knew well.

"I authorise it, your Highness." Juno almost smiled. "In the event of trouble, please lend us your aid." Daniel snapped his heels together and inclined his head.

"Yes Captain! Thank you Captain!"

"That will do, your Highness," Juno admonished, her smile widening at his momentary eruption of boyish enthusiasm. Daniel instantly controlled himself.

He did not notice the look Colonel Messa was giving the Captain.

* * *

_**Orb Union**_

The night sky was clear, the moon high and bright. It was warm, made pleasant by a gentle breeze. Waves lapped gently up the beach, leaving white foam as they slid back down again.

The sight of a young man and woman walking hand in hand along the beach might under most circumstances have given the scene a picture-perfect quality. All the more so if one could see them up close. The young lady was beautiful, so much so that she had been considered one of the most beautiful in all the Earth Sphere. Her hair was long and pink, her figure graceful, her skin as smooth and white as ivory. The young man was uncommonly handsome himself, his finely-sculpted face and soft brown hair giving him an air of warmth and gentleness, while the sparkle in his eyes spoke of the joy of youth.

They were both beautiful. It was their destiny to be beautiful, for so they were also intended to be. For they were both Coordinators.

So Lacus Clyne sometimes thought. Even then, walking arm in arm with her beloved, the sand warm under her feet and the breeze cool on her face, the though still occurred to her. How much of Kira Yamato's perfections, his virtues and qualities, the things about of that made her love him, were the product of genetic engineering?

It was a question that anyone who loved a Coordinator had to face. But Lacus had known the answer for a long time. While any number of things about Kira could be the product of his genes, so it went for any other person. Kira was who Kira was, regardless of how he came to be. And Lacus Clyne was Lacus Clyne.

And Lacus Clyne loved Kira Yamato.

Yes, she was Lacus Clyne, no more and no less. She had left her old life behind, choosing to live with her beloved Kira in his homeland the Orb Union, along with their mutual friend Reverend Malchio and his veritable tribe of war orphans, to whom she and Kira acted as surrogate mother and father. So they had lived, in what amounted to a common law marriage, for nearly two years. And Lacus knew she wanted nothing more than to live that way forever, that she and Kira could live out their lives in something approximating to peace.

But would the world let them?

"Kira?" She looked up at her beloved, who was a little taller than her. His face was grim, his eyes distant. "Kira?"

"Oh, sorry." His face softened as he looked back at her, his frown replaced by a bashful smile. "I was…distracted."

"You were thinking about everything that's happening," Lacus said, her own countenance darkening. "You're letting it get to you."

"I can't help it," Kira admitted sadly. "Everything was supposed to get better after Jachin Due, and the new treaty. But now everything's getting worse but for different reasons."

"History doesn't repeat itself," Lacus replied, reciting an old axiom. "It merely rhymes."

"I thought the war between Earth and the PLANTs was bad," Kira went on. "But now it's the Atlantic Federation versus Eurasia. I don't know which is worse."

Lacus didn't know either. She understood and shared Kira's frustration at how things were turning out. It was as if no one had really learned anything, as if they had put aside one enmity only to embrace another. She had known things would get hairy when the JOSH-A scandal erupted, but not like this.

"It's not our problem," she said, injecting a little force into her tone. "It's not something we can do anything about."

"I know," Kira agreed, still sounding more sad than angry. "I'm mostly worried about Cagalli. We hardly see her any more."

"She's got a lot to deal with right now." That was an understatement. Visits from Cagalli and Athrun had dropped off noticeably over the past few months, and on the rare occasions when they did show up Cagalli had seemed tired and stressed. Lacus did not envy her position, trying to protect her country in the face of a cataclysm that might destroy human civilization. She could tell instinctively that Cagalli was buckling under the strain, and that it was hurting Athrun too.

Lacus wondered at times how things were going to turn out between those two. She longer dared ask when the two of them would find the time to get married, and she suspected they never would, at least not for a while. Cagalli was born to wear a crown, figuratively speaking, and had vowed to her martyred father that she would put Orb's needs above all else. Were he anything less than completely devoted to her, Athrun would have walked away long ago.

As they approached the log cabin that was their home, the couple saw the children clustered around a telescope set on a tripod, each clamouring for a turn. Lacus' bevy of brightly-coloured Haros bounced and chirped around them. Kira and Lacus both smiled at the scene, enjoying the distraction, and smiled wider when they saw who was keeping order around the telescope.

"Mister Kira! Miss Lacus!" called a blond-haired boy of about twelve years, waving to them.

"Prayer!" Kira called cheerfully back. "They haven't eaten you yet?"

"Mister Kira, you should come and see," Prayer Reverie gestured to the telescope, and Lacus saw the seriousness in his blue eyes. All at once the children started calling out to them too.

"Kira! Come and see! Come and see!"

"It's the ship!"

"Come and see the ship!"

"All right all right!" Kira chuckled as he headed for the telescope. Lacus followed after, though her eyes were on Prayer. She had not known him long, and knew little about his past, save that he was another of Reverend Malchio's wards. He had a good and friendly nature, and was very helpful in taking care of the children, who all adored him.

But there was something in those blue eyes, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hey," Kira commented, evidently impressed by whatever he was seeing in the telescope. "That thing's fast."

"What is it?" Lacus asked, curious.

"It's the ship Lady Cagalli told us about," Prayer explained gravely. "It changed direction and accelerated quite suddenly."

"Check out that engine flare," Kira went on. "The whole planet's gonna see it."

"But why?" Lacus asked, concerned. "Why now? It wasn't due to make lunar orbit for another three days."

"Guess they had a change of priorities," Kira commented, straightening up.

"Do you know what that might be, Mister Kira?" Prayer asked.

"No idea," Kira admitted, nonplussed. "But whatever it is, they're going flat out."

Lacus didn't know either.

And that worried her.

* * *

**My apologies that this took so long. I've been very busy recently. **

**Just to explain after a question regarding Daniel's companions. Ninin Pulu-Lemo is Elpeo Puru, Damien is Domon Kasshu, while Hannon Gable is Zechs Merquise. The companions are shout-outs to those respective characters, who appear as a team in Gundam Musou, hence Zaru's suggestion. Ninin is, as I see it, how Puru might have turned out had she made it to the age of fifteen. **

**As for the battle, I changed the events of the **_**Minerva**_**'s duel with the **_**Girty Lue**_** for a couple of reasons. One was that I didn't want to have to follow the events of the original anime too closely, as it would be boring to write if nothing else. The other was that the **_**Minerva**_** getting stuck behind all those asteroids and standing still didn't seem quite right (the big one landing in front seemed especially contrived). I also feel that Talia's turnaround was an opportunity to show what she's capable of under the right circumstances while bearing in mind her lack of experience. **

**One last thing to cover is the **_**Jovian Dawn**_**'s speed. I want to make clear that the **_**Jovian Dawn**_** is capable of travelling considerably faster than it is currently doing, hence being able to reach Junius Seven within hours. Before now it has been decelerating gradually in order to approach Earth slowly, and as such be less likely to spook the Terrans. **

**As for Prayer Reverie, I'm not going to spoil it for you, save that I know about X Astray and what apparently happened to him there. The truth will be revealed in time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Our destiny is in motion. _

_For too long we have been despised, rejected, spat-upon, and abused. For too long we have suffered at the hands of the Naturals, the humanity we were created to enlighten and to save. Those very same Naturals, as they call themselves with hateful pride and jealousy, have driven us from the Earth, condemning us to live here in the PLANTs, the ghettoes of the Cosmic Era, to labour for their enrichment. They have rejected us, and tossed us aside. What we are, to them, is the sum of what we can do._

_Why do they hate us? Their hate is born of their envy. They envy our strong bodies, our quick and deep minds. They envy the multiplicity of our skills, the depths of our capacities, the greatness of our spirits. They envy us for these things, but also they fear us. They fear us because they know that we are superior, that we, unlike the failed and flawed Naturals, have the capacity to become a new humanity. Such is the law of natural selection, the inescapable logic of evolution, against which no deluded creed is proof. But no species ever went quietly into the night, and the Naturals are no different. They see the twilight of their era, and will see us all burn rather than let that come about. _

_No more! Never again! Never again shall we endure the oppression and cruelty of the Naturals! Never again shall we be lambs fit only for slaughter! Under the leadership of the Zodiac Alliance of Freedom, our treaty shall bind together the PLANTs in an indissoluble bond of nationhood. Through this bond we shall come together as one, growing stronger together, that we might achieve our destiny. Through this alliance we shall arm ourselves, building weapons for our defence, and training our soldiers to fight. _

_It is our right to defend ourselves! It is our right to live together as one nation! It is our right to survive!"_

_Patrick Zala _

_**Then**_

_**Mars, Olympus Mons, August 19**__**th**__** CE 72. **_

Victory.

The word, the realisation of it, seemed hollow somehow. They had waited so long, given so much, and all they got was...

So thought Agnus Brahe, future leader of the Australis Colony, Commander of the Australis Expeditionary Contingent, in a somewhat ill-timed moment of introspection. From the cockpit of the newly-built GSF-YAM01 Λ _Astray_, he could see the battle draw to its conclusion.

The missile bombardment had worked well, better than he thought it would. The allied forces were using converted civilian crawlers, and Agnus knew from experience what happened when a machine was put to a purpose other than what it was designed for. That was, in part, why the war had gone on for so many years. But the complications seemed finally to have been worked out, and everyone seemed to know what to do. The gun turrets of the secondary defence line had been pounded in scrap, and the infantry had moved forward to cut the spacesuit-shredding razor wire and remove the booby traps, while Australis' mobile suits kept the defenders off them.

The defences were breached. The Olympus Mons colony, from his vantage point a cluster of domes around the foot of the great mountain, was wide open.

And yet there was no joy in it, nor even satisfaction. But then what had he expected? Agnus had never been able to put it into words, but he had always felt like things would feel different, somehow better. The sight of what the Olympian troops had done in all the colonies they tried to conquer had always made his blood boil, driving him on to greater effort and success. Ever since he had been put in command, only a few months earlier, he had been _utterly_ determined to finish the war, to see an end to the conflict that had caused so much destruction and cost so many lives.

So much so, that he had never really thought about how he would feel afterwards. He had never actually decided that he would feel good about himself once the victory was won. In truth, he hadn't _thought_ about it at all.

Maybe that was human nature too. Maybe it had been a way of coping, a means by which his mind could handle the horrors it had been made to process. It had driven him on, investing everything in the victory that was to come, because the alternative was to break down and cry.

Nothing. No reward, no glory, no moment of transcendent happiness.

Nothing.

Agnus hated himself at times. He hated himself when he couldn't control his anger. His hot blood, and notoriously bad temper, were common knowledge in the Australis Colony, among the people he would someday lead. Like everyone else in his generation and one before it, Agnus had been genetically engineered to perform a specific role, and to perform it better than the average Natural or even a normal Coordinator would. He had been made to rule, his genes painstakingly crafted to make him the ideal leader. And yet for all that, for all the work that had gone into his conception, he was still fifteen years old. The fire of youth burned as brightly and unpredictably in him as it did in any other person of his age.

But Agnus didn't like the places to which it directed him. He didn't care much for what it made him say, or do, or think. It was contrary to his role, his _destiny_, for him to keep losing his temper, and to make rash decisions. But the fire would not be denied.

And in that place, in the airless waste on the edge of a falling city, the fire was all he had.

"Are you sulking again Agnus?" asked a familiar voice over the comm. Agnus could not help but feel a _little_ better at the sound of it. Nahe Herschell, his oldest and to be honest his only friend, tended to have that effect on people.

"A little," he admitted. "I guess I'm just frustrated."

"That's you all-over," Nahe said, smiling. "How about we finish up here and go home?"

"That sounds good." And it did. "What's the situation?"

"The guys from Herschel and Huygens are rolling up the perimeter defences and the rest report entry points secure."

"Order the crawlers to the entry points," Agnus replied curtly. "It's time to finish this."

"Lead the way!" Nahe proclaimed cheerfully.

"And don't mess up my precious Delta!" wailed another, unfortunately very familiar voice. "I put my heart and soul into building it!"

"Stay out of it Gear!" Agnus snapped, his temper rising again. "People who won't fight shouldn't pass comments!"

"And while you're at it," Lowe Gear went on, undeterred. "Don't smash those enemy mobile suits up so much! I wanna take one of them apart!"

"Quit being a mech fanboy!" interjected a female voice from off-screen.

"I have to see that technology!" Lowe protested, turning his head to yell at whoever it was, though Agnus strongly suspected it was his companion Kisato Yamabuki. "A man in my line of work needs to see as much different technology as he can!"

"You're just obsessed with mobile suits and…" Agnus cut the link before he lost his temper again.

"They're a funny bunch," Nahe commented cheerfully.

"Bizarre, you mean," Agnus retorted sourly. He really didn't understand the way Lowe Gear and his fellow Junk Guild immigrants behaved. It seemed contrary to everything he believed. Lowe himself was the strangest of all, for he claimed to use his mobile suit for everything from fighting battles to building colonies. To Agnus, and to the Australis Colony's way of thinking, such behaviour was absurd. For something to do other than what it was designed to do was to break with its destiny, disrupting the order of things for selfish reasons.

He could tolerate their eccentricities, because they contributed to their colony in their own ways, and because they weren't planning on staying much longer.

But he could neither tolerate nor forgive what the Olympians had done, and why they had done it.

Agnus pressed down the pedals, and the Delta leapt. The _Voiture Lumiere_ system flared to life, energized Mirage Colloid particles spraying from the Delta's wings. Agnus flew towards the colony, Nahe struggling to keep up in his GSF-YAM02 _Guardshell_, currently in mobile suit mode.

Within moments he could see the battle, tracer rounds and the occasional beam cutting back and forth. As the two mobile suits raced across the red plain, Olympus Mons seemed to loom in front of them, dwarfing the colony that had so arrogantly taken its name, and sought to make themselves the rulers of the whole of Mars.

Agnus gritted his teeth as his fury rose. It was in that same arrogance that the Olympians had built an interplanetary ship, and sent it beyond the asteroid belt in search of the legendary Founders. It was in that arrogance, so it was said, that they had brought one of the Founders back with them. It was in that arrogance, so the story went, that they had made him their leader, and willingly accepted his poisonous creed.

Kellen, the so-called _Man from Beyond,_ would not get away. That he vowed.

All at once they were approaching one of the domes, its silvery skin blackened and pock-marked from the violence visited upon it. Agnus was relieved that it did not appear to have been breached, for he knew only too well what the result would have been.

He powered down the Voiture Lumiere, allowing some of the Mirage Colloid particles to dissipate, slowing the Delta to a more manageable speed. He keyed for active scanning.

There they were. Four mobile suit contacts coming his way, no doubt intending to counter-attack the allied thrust in that area. The space-suited infantry, lightly-armed buggies, and tripod tanks would be hard-pressed to resist mobile suits, and the crawlers had not yet arrived.

Agnus eased the Delta down, landing lightly beside the vast dome, Nahe landing beside him. The four mobile suits came into view, skimming over the red soil as they rounded a neighbouring dome. Agnus could see their wide feet and flaring ankles, their bulging, almost hunched backs, their large rounded shoulders and their low, domed heads, with red visors glowing under their protruding brows.

They saw him, but Agnus and Nahe were already firing. Their beams struck true, and two of the oncoming mobile suits exploded. The remainder came on, jinking back and forth, returning fire with their beam rifles. Agnus dodged lightly, the Delta's controls responding easily. One of them drew close, drawing a cylindrical object from its belt. Agnus watched, amazed, as a beam of light burst from the cylinder, forming what amounted to the blade of a sword.

He keyed for his own sword, and the Delta drew the gold-hilted sabre from its scabbard at its waist. The enemy charged, its weapon raised high. Agnus charged in turn, then jinked left, swinging his sword around and forward as he passed. The blade tore through the enemy mobile suit's waist in one smooth motion, and Agnus felt the force of the explosion behind him. He spun round, only to see the _Guardshell_ hurl its circular shield at the remaining enemy. The shield smashed into the mobile suit's torso, and Nahe hurled the wreck away with an expert flick.

"Come on!" Agnus barked. The two mobile suits advanced, skimming over the ground for greater speed. Agnus could already see his destination, the long mass driver reaching up the side of the mountain. With the city surrounded, it was the only way out.

Kellen would not escape.

Two more enemy mobile suits appeared. Agnus and Nahe shot them down in short order, racing past as they blew apart. They rounded a corner, and another, and another. Then he could see it, another dome at the base of the mass driver. If Kellen was anywhere, he was there.

Six mobile suits waited there, beam rifles at the ready. Agnus fired, Nahe doing likewise. Nahe hit his target in the chest, blowing it apart. Agnus's hit was slightly off, hitting the right shoulder and tearing away the arm, taking the beam rifle with it. Agnus hissed in frustration, downing the maimed machine with a second shot. But the remaining four were already moving and evading, splitting into pairs for each target.

Agnus fired, the beams flying uselessly past the targeted enemy, its partner breaking off to flank him. He charged, bringing up his sword to strike. But the enemy had already drawn its beam saber, catching his blow. Agnus pressed hard, willing Delta's arm down to crush the enemy. But the mobile suit was strong, enough so to hold him in place. Agnus felt the seconds falling away, and knew he had to end the duel immediately. He decided to risk all.

He brought up his beam rifle. As he squeezed the trigger he slammed the pedals back, the Delta breaking away backward as the beam tore into the mobile suit's plastron. Despite his movement, the force of the explosion was enough to throw him backwards. He fought for control, the Delta's legs scoring long furrows in the red dust as he skidded backwards.

The other mobile suit made its move, charging at him from the side while firing its beam rifle. Caught off-guard, Agnus did his best to evade. But one of the beams tore through his right wing, and his HUD flashed red, informing him that the Voiture Lumiere was offline.

Agnus gave a shout of fury, swinging his beam rifle round to blaze at the oncoming mobile suit. The enemy did not dodge, perhaps too far gone to remember, and the shots struck home. Agnus looked around, desperate to find Nahe, wondering if his friend was in trouble.

He saw the _Guardshell_ stagger, as the last remaining mobile suit blew away its left leg with a well-placed shot. Agnus slammed his pedals up and down, sprinting the _Delta_ across the battlefield towards his fallen friend. He felt as though he was moving in treacle, and he felt cold in his stomach as he saw he would not make it in time. He fired, blazing at the enemy mobile suit as it moved in for the kill.

That was enough to get the enemy's attention. The mobile suit turned, reaching for its beam saber as the Delta charged, sword held high. The mobile suit dodged left, _Delta_'s sword slamming down into the red soil. Agnus dropped back, and the enemy came on, thrusting for his waist. Agnus gave a shout of fury, which was cut off as he heard a similar sound from the comm. The enemy was broadcasting on an open band.

"DIE!" the enemy roared. Agnus snarled as he brought up the sword, parrying the beam saber up and away. The blades locked, and the two mobile suits strained against each other, neither giving way.

"This battle is over!" Agnus snapped into the comm, hoping against hope that he could make the enemy pilot see reason. "Your leader is about to abandon you! You've lost, can't you see that?!"  
"NEVER!" the pilot shrieked, incoherent. "You won't take our leader! You won't destroy our dreams!"

"Your dreams are dead!" Agnus bellowed. "Your dreams brought you to this!"

They had, and Agnus hated them for it. Kellen had led them on, telling them that their desires, their foul lusts, were all that mattered. He had told them what they wanted to hear, that the meaning of life was to take what they wanted, when they wanted. He told them that they did not have to concern themselves with duty, or reason, or even altruism, for the only evil was that which constrained them. He had fanned the flames of their ambitions, until they believed they could rule the whole of Mars. Thousands, tens of thousands, had been sacrificed.

Agnus dropped back, breaking the lock. He barrelled forward, left shoulder first, tackling the enemy mobile suit and sending it stumbling back. He swung, his blade cutting into the enemy's shoulder and tearing away in a shower of sparks. The enemy struck at him, forcing him to drop back. Agnus tackled once again, this time aiming for the enemy's crippled left shoulder. The mobile suit staggered back, and Agnus brought his blade down hard, tearing through the head and down into the torso.

Mercifully, the crippled mobile suit did not explode. Agnus tore the sword free, knocking the wreckage away.

And as he looked up, he saw the mass driver come to life. He could only stare in horrified disbelief as the blocky shape sped up the driver, accelerating as it went.

Agnus gave a cry of rage and denial. He snapped up the rifle, blazing fire at the fleeing ship. But it was too late, and the ship from the top of the mass driver, its engines igniting to bear it the rest of the way.

Nothing.

All for nothing.

* * *

_**Now**_

_**Minerva, in the Debris Belt, October 4**__**th**__** CE 73. **_

Arthur Trine had a lot on his mind.

This was the normal state of being for a commander on a ZAFT warship. The rank was part of ZAFT's attempt to create an effective rank structure without replicating the sometimes mind-boggling complexity of that of its OMNI counterpart. It was the highest of the three blackcoat ranks under the new system, the others being lieutenant commander and lieutenant respectively. The only others to hold the rank of commander were the Chief Engineer and the mobile suit Squadron Leader, both of which held the same status due to the importance of their roles, but were not referred-to as such.

Once one had gotten past all that, the commander's role was act as the captain's right-hand.

He was in effect Starbuck to Talia Gladys' Ahab, acting as a bridge between the captain and the rest of the crew. In practice that meant making sure the captain's orders were carried out, and that everything on the ship was in order. A cynic might claim that his job was to do the captain's job.

Regardless, he had plenty to oversee while the captain was busy with the Chairman and the Chief Representative. The damage the _Minerva_ had taken in the battle a few hours earlier had been serious, though not crippling. Those two mobile suits had torn the _Minerva_'s starboard side open, exposing all decks. While the hull breaches and fires had been contained immediately, the main power conduits along that side had been severed at multiple points, leaving a number of major systems without power.

Had he been inclined to religion, Arthur would have thanked the relevant deity or deities that the _Minerva_ had been carrying a full stock of spare parts. Patching up the hull breaches was comparatively easy, but the gaps in the power distribution network were too big for jury-rigging, and rerouting via secondary conduits wasn't as helpful as it sounded. Once the hull was sufficiently patched, they would have to replace the damaged or destroyed conduit sections from their part stocks.

That, as Arthur had been pleased to note, was proceeding on schedule. Most of the crew were newly-minted personnel, but what they lacked in experience they were making up for in professionalism and skill. The new training programme was proving itself in them.

As he floated along the corridor, he encountered two enlisted personnel in green work suits coming in the opposite direction along the other side. They saluted as they passed him, and Arthur allowed them a slight smile as he returned their salute. While a part of him enjoyed the greater adherence to protocol Durandal's reforms had introduced, he nonetheless liked being able to connect with the crew. It was especially important on spaceships, their crews being trapped in a closed system for days or weeks, sometimes months at a time.

"Arthur," came the Captain's voice from his earpiece.

"Captain," Arthur replied, pressing a finger to his earpiece.

"Meet me in my office. Something has come up." There was something in his Captain's tone that Arthur found unsettling.

"Yes Captain." As he hurried for the elevator, Arthur wondered what could have rattled her so. She was somewhat given to bursts of emotion, to the point where Arthur reckoned she was uncomfortable in her position. That was not so surprising, considering how quickly she had risen. So quickly in fact, that it was muttered in some quarters that she was receiving some _inappropriate_ assistance, perhaps even from Chairman Durandal. But the strain in her voice had been far worse than any he remembered. Had some terrible news arrived from the homeland? Had war finally broken out between Eurasia and the Atlantic Federation? Had PLANT chosen a side?

When he reached the Captain's office, the door slid open almost immediately. When he stepped inside, he saw Captain Gladys standing alone with her back to him. Evidently she had completed her business with the Chairman and the Chief Representative.

"You sent for me, Captain."

"We received a message one hour ago," Talia began, her tone as grave as any Arthur had heard. "I have just been discussing it with the Chairman and the Chief Representative."

"Is it the Naturals, Captain?" Arthur asked, unable to contain himself. "Has the war started?"

"No Arthur." There was a hint of exasperation in her tone, enough to make Arthur feel foolish. If the Eurasian and Atlantic Federations had decided to have a nuclear exchange, the effects would be easily visible from the _Minerva_'s current vantage point. "If anything it's worse."

"Captain?" _Now_ he was worried.

"Junius Seven Beta is moving." Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Such was his shock that he could not reply.

"Yes, I know," Talia went on, turning to face him. Her face was set, but her eyes were weary. "A disaster beyond compare. A catastrophe."

"Captain!" Arthur blurted out, the calculations and their horrible implications running unbidden through his mind. "If it hits…"

"I'm afraid it gets worse," Talia went on gravely. "The newcomer has changed course and accelerated towards Junius Seven Beta. It is expected to intercept in seven hours."

"Is there any indication of their intentions, Captain?" Arthur knew about the incoming ship of course. In spite of all the changes ZAFT had retained its custom of solidarity among the officer corps. What one knew would spread quickly, and so it was that a lowly black-coat subaltern like Arthur Trine had come to know of it. He also knew the rules regarding state secrets, which was why if rumours were floating around among the enlisted ranks, they had not started with him.

"None whatsoever Arthur," Talia replied. "They have still not made contact." She paused, then eyed him. "What does that tell you?" Arthur was momentarily nonplussed, then mastered himself.

"I don't believe they're hostile, Captain. It seems that they're trying to intercept Junius Seven Beta. I see no other explanation for why they would change course at this time."

"You may be right," Talia allowed. "Command, however, is not so sure. They're telling me to use my judgement."

"Yes Captain."

"First things first, how are the repairs?"

"The superstructure repairs are complete, Captain, and the repairs to the outer hull and the power conduits are coming along quickly. We can be underway within the hour, and finish of the secondary repairs as we go."

"Good, very good." Arthur thought she seemed relieved, or perhaps hopeful. "We can be there in six hours if we go all-out. That gives us an hour before the newcomer shows up, and another hour before the point of no return. If all goes well, Group Commander Joule should get their ahead of us and be at work as we arrive."

"Joule's group," Arthur mused. "That's the _Rousseau_ and the _Voltaire_?" It made sense to Arthur that a young, newly-minted group commander like Yzak Joule would have only two warships.

It was also a credit to ZAFT's and the Chairman's fair-mindedness that he had a command at all. In PLANT as much as anywhere else, and Arthur sometimes suspected more so, one was all too often defined by one's parents. Having Ezalia Joule, formerly of the Supreme Council and foremost among Patrick Zala's supporters, for a mother was far from enviable in the current climate.

"That's right," Talia confirmed. "According to the report they commandeered some asteroid-crackers on the way. That gives me cause for confidence."

"Yes Captain." Arthur cleared his throat. "Captain, are you going to tell the crew? About the ship, I mean." The look in her eyes instantly made him regret it.

"No Arthur, I won't be telling them," she replied, somewhat testily. "Command insists that this has to be kept secret until the last possible moment, and the Chairman's backing them up this time. We will say nothing until the ship is in sight, at which point concealment would be entirely pointless."

"Yes Captain."

* * *

_**Jovian Dawn**_

The Captain's Office was spacious and functional, a good place in which to handle the business of commanding the _Jovian Dawn _while keeping it separate from the Captain's quarters.

Juno Moneta sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen as the data scrolled down. There was a lot to do, and best to get it done in the few hours she had before they reached the falling asteroid.

The door chimed.

"Enter." The door slid open and Colonel Vissari Messa strode in. Juno's heart sank at the look in her eyes, though she had known this would happen.

"Captain, I was just checking the duty roster." Vissari's eyes were hard as they gazed into Juno's own. "You cleared him to fly."

"Yes, I did." Juno held her gaze. "Have you a problem with that?"

"Yes, I have." Vissari's tone was as hard as her gaze. "You're letting our Crown Prince go into battle."

"Your point being?"

"Damn it Juno!" Vissari erupted. "Don't you realise what you're doing? What you're doing to him?"

"He wants this, Vissari." Juno kept her tone level as she faced down her friend's anger. "He wants this desperately. And I understand why he does."

"Of course he wants it!" the colonel snapped. "But that's no reason to cast him into the fire! Take him off the roster!"

"You know I can't do that." And she could not. Once given, even a Captain could not revoke flight status without a _very_ good reason, which in practice meant medical or disciplinary. Prince Daniel was in perfect health, and his disciplinary record was near-spotless.

"You have the authority!" Vissari insisted, an edge of desperation in her tone. "Fleet Command will back you up! His safety comes first!"

"So I should break the rules for his sake?" Juno snapped. "Damn it Vissari, if it were anyone else I could lose everything!"

"He _isn't_ anyone else!" Vissari insisted. "There's no need for him to fight!"

"Yes there is," Juno countered. "He needs it, and the crew needs it too." She paused, choosing her words.

"Vissari, we have enjoyed a rare privilege these past two years," she began. "Before, the whole kingdom watched Prince Daniel grow. But since we departed on this voyage that joy has been ours and ours alone. The kingdom watched him as a boy, but we alone will see him become a man. That's why the crew needs this, Vissari. They need to see him prove himself."

"Prove himself?" the marine almost spat. "Don't talk to me about that! I've seen too many young boys and girls come to me wanting to prove themselves! I've seen what happens to them Juno! I've seen what becomes of them, even if they survive! You've seen it too!"

"Yes, I have," Juno admitted darkly. "But just because it didn't work out for some of them doesn't mean it won't work out for him."

"You _know_ what will happen!" Vissari pressed. "You _know_ him as well as anyone. You know it'll destroy him!"

"What would you have me do, Vissari!" Juno snapped, on the verge of losing her temper. "Keep him imprisoned on this ship? Wrapped in foam? Forever wondering if he had it in himself to do it, and ashamed of himself for not trying? What're you trying to prove Vissari?"

"What're _you_ trying to prove?" Vissari barked back. "You act like his wellbeing doesn't matter to you at all? Who're you trying to convince Juno? The crew? Or yourself?" She stopped herself, but too late. Juno's gaze was as cold as the void.

"Don't start that with me, Vissari Messa." Her words were enunciated very precisely, as if she were having to control herself with every syllable. "Not after the oath you swore. Not after you touched his majesty's hand and vowed silence."

"I swore that oath," Vissari admitted bitterly. "And I will die before I break it. But I wish I had not sworn it. I wish I had not, because I know what that oath is costing you."

Juno knew she should stay angry with Vissari, though the marine colonel was her oldest and dearest friend. But she could not. She never could.

"Is he somehow not up to standard?" she asked, changing tack. "Is it your professional opinion that he will put your pilots in danger?"

"No," Vissari replied, reluctantly. "He's up to standard."

"I agree," Juno concluded. "And he's got those three to watch his back in any case."

"Don't talk to me about them!" Vissari groused. "If I had my way, they wouldn't still be in the Guards!"

"Because of Sinope?"

"They shouldn't have been there!" Vissari barked back. "They disobeyed a standing order and what do they get? Medals! Ovations from the Parliament! Even the Prince got an ovation!"

"Can you blame them?" Juno quipped. "Politicians love to make speeches and act all fulsome, especially when royalty does something useful."

"A presumptuous twelve-year-old who wanted to be a hero!" Vissari snapped.

"Or maybe," Juno held her gaze, "he couldn't bear the thought of knowing over a hundred thousand people, whom we practically abandoned, had to die so he could be safe."

Vissari had never concealed her opinion about the Battle of Sinope, or rather her opinion on the much celebrated role of the transport _Basilikos_ and the Royal Guard detachment it happened to be carrying. The fact that every respectable authority, including just about every other Marine officer, agreed that Sinope would have fallen had they not stayed, in no way affected that opinion. Juno suspected nothing ever would, though she wondered from time to time why Vissari couldn't let it go.

"I'm not saying there's something wrong with him," Vissari insisted, somewhat defensively. "I _am_ saying that you're letting him put himself in unnecessary danger because of your personal feelings."

"You can say that," Juno replied. "And I can say that you're both right and wrong. I don't believe the danger is unnecessary, but I _am_ doing it for personal reasons." She sat back in her chair, meeting Vissari's gaze.

"I'm doing it," she said, "because I believe in him."

* * *

_**Minerva**_

The atmosphere in the lounge was sombre, with a vague timbre of fear.

Lunamaria Hawke, Luna to her friends, knew what it meant and why it was so. They had all heard the news over the intercom of how Junius Seven was falling, and of how they had been tasked with ensuring that it was blasted into suitably small fragments before it hit ground.

Lunamaria had a pretty shrewd idea of what would happen if something of Junius Seven Beta's mass actually succeeded in striking the Earth's surface. If she remembered correctly from school, it was a little smaller than the object that created the Chicxulub crater. The effects, she reckoned, would be much the same.

As it things weren't bad enough. As if she wasn't angry, wasn't _frustrated_ already.

She had never thought her career as a pilot in ZAFT's Mobile Suit Corps would start out so badly. She had endured the training; twenty weeks basic, one hundred hours primary, two hundred hours advanced. The advanced module had been the hardest of all, and only those who passed it could wear the coveted red coat and pilot mobile suits in combat. When she wasn't in an actual mobile suit she was in a simulator, fighting freeplay battles over and over again against an AI programmed with every trick its designers could squeeze out of every veteran pilot they could find. Fourteen hours a day, six days a week. _Every_ week.

She was good, of that she had been certain. She had _known_ that she was good, that she was _better _than the old sweats who sneered at her and her classmates. As far as they were concerned, she and her classmates weren't _proper_ redcoats, not like in their day when the red coat was a reward for high achievement. They had been lucky to get six months of training during the war, and had relied on their genetically-engineered talents to make up the difference. To them, _that_ was the better way, and Lunamaria had been determined to prove them wrong.

Except she hadn't. She had fought two engagements in as many days, and in neither case had she gotten a kill. And that against an enemy that had stolen three prototype mobile suits, trashed Armoury One, killed two of her classmates, and damaged the _Minerva._

It wasn't all bad. Mingled with her anger was a burning pride in Captain Gladys, in how she had turned the tables on Bogey One and made the enemy bleed. She had won back some of ZAFT's honour, boosting the crew's morale, her own included.

"Yeah." Red-haired Vino Dupre broke the silence. "But how did it start moving?"

"Maybe a meteorite hit," replied Yolant Kent, from his seat next to Lunamaria on the oblong of footstools next to the table. "And knocked it out of orbit."

"So is that thing _really_ on a collision course?" Shinn spoke up from behind her.

"Yeah," answered Meyrin, her younger sister. "That's what Bart told me." Lunamaria sighed in frustration.

"First Armoury One," she heard herself say, "and now this?" She turned to Yolant. "So if Junius Seven is moving, what do we do about it?" When the technician did not reply, she turned her attention to his friend Vino, who looked away in embarrassment. The atmosphere had a taken a turn for the awkward.

"Just break it up." All heads turned towards Rey Za Burrel, who was standing off to one side like an honour guard. They were as much surprised that he had spoken as by what he had said, for the blond pilot rarely said a word to anyone. Lunamaria didn't know much about him, as he was more Shinn's friend than hers.

"Break it up?" Vino asked.

"That thing?" Yolant added. Lunamaria couldn't blame him. Fragmenting something of that size and mass would be hard enough even if the clock wasn't ticking.

"Look," Rey folded his arms. "There's no way to change its course. Break it up."

"But it's huge!" Yolant was incredulous. "Even if you break it in half, that's still eight kilometres across."

"How do you smash something that big?" Vino wondered aloud.

"And what about the victims?" asked Meyrin sadly. Lunamaria felt a pang as she regarded her younger sister. The look in her eyes, along with those pigtails into which she insisted on tying her red hair, made her look younger than she was. "It's packed with the bodies of those who died."

"But if it hits," Rey replied, "Earth will be destroyed and nothing will be left, living or dead." There was a pause as his words sunk in.

"Earth…destroyed," Vino said in a low voice.

"How awful," added Meyrin.

"Ah well," Yolant spoke up with a sigh. "If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." The others looked up, and Lunamaria was more than a little surprised by the smile on his face.

"But hey, look on the bright side," Yolant went on. "This'll take care of a lot of problems. Things'll be way better on the PLANTs from now on."

"How can you say those things!" barked a voice from the doorway. Lunamaria looked up, and her heart skipped a beat as she saw Cagalli Yula Attha standing there, thunderstruck. Alex Dino, if that was really his name, stepped in behind her, looking worried. Forcing down her embarrassment, Lunamaria leapt to her feet and saluted. The others did likewise, at least those she could see. Shinn was behind her.

"If it's meant to be?" Cagalli went on, enraged. "Things'll be better? Do you know what could happen to Earth? How _serious_ this is? Do you know how many people are going to die?"

It occurred to Lunamaria that she was aiming her fury at all of them, not just Yolant. A twinge of sadness mingled with her embarrassment, for she admired and respected the very angry young woman standing in front of her. Cagalli Yula Attha was only a year or two her senior, yet she had piloted a mobile suit in combat, and was her country's Head of State. She was glaring at Yolant, who looked as if he wished he could sink into the floor and disappear.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Cagalli made no sign of acknowledging him, but instead turned her attention to the rest of them.

"Is this what people from ZAFT are saying?" she demanded, bronze eyes blazing. "Is this what they think?" No one had an answer for her, least of all Lunamaria, who was racking her brain trying to think of a way to defuse the situation. She wished the Captain or the Commander Trine was there.

"We all lived through that terrible war!" Cagalli proclaimed. "We all suffered in it! I thought things were changing under Chairman Durandal, or am I missing something here?"

"_That's it," _Lunamaria thought sourly. "_She thinks we're all Zalaites or something. This is gonna run for months._"

"Cagalli," her bodyguard growled, grabbing her arm. "That's enough!" Cagalli half-turned, teeth gritted, and Lunamaria wondered if she would turn her rage on him.

"Yolant was only kidding you know." It was Shinn's turn to speak, and Lunamaria felt her heart sink. Yes, things could _always_ get worse. "Don't you even understand a simple joke?"

"How dare you?" Cagalli snapped, and would have advanced on Shinn had Alex, or was it Athrun, not kept his grip on her arm.

"Shinn," Rey spoke up, warning in his tone, "you'd better watch what you say." Shinn glared at his friend.

"Oh," he said, with sneering condescension. "I _almost _forgot. She's some kind of VIP. A _Princess_ of _Orb._"

"Why _you…_!" Cagalli looked ready to commit murder, but Alex pulled her back again.

"Control yourself Cagalli!" Alex/Athrun almost snarled. Something in his tone must have tamed the enraged Chief Representative, for she suddenly stood down. The man who might have been Athrun Zala stepped forward, his green eyes on Shinn.

"It seems like you have some kind of grudge against Orb." His tone was level, but Lunamaria could see the hostility in his eyes. "May I ask why?" Shinn turned his red eyes upon the bodyguard, and Lunamaria knew what was coming.

"I thought you used to live there," Athrun pressed, when Shinn did not reply. "If you're looking for some kind of trivial excuse to drag the Representative into an irrelevant fight, I won't stand for it."

"Trivial?" Shinn snapped, rounding on Athrun. "I won't allow anyone to call it trivial! And you're wrong about it being irrelevant too!" He stepped around the footstools and stormed up to Athrun. Lunamaria tensed, readying herself to intervene if they started fighting. The charges would end Shinn's career, but Lunamaria knew him well enough to know that he was too angry to care.

"I lost my entire family because of the Athhas!" Shinn snarled. "They believed in the nation, and in your _ideals_! They died at Onogoro because of it!" Shinn turned his eyes on Cagalli, who flinched. "That's why I'll never believe the words you say, and I'll never believe in Orb! I'll never believe any of your self-serving lies again!" He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, crushing the half-finished can and spilling its contents.

"Did you even think about the innocents who would be sacrificed?" he roared. "Because you insisted on following your values to the bitter end?"

Despite everything, Lunamaria felt sorry for the Chief Representative and her bodyguard. Cagalli looked horrified, and even Athrun was visibly affected.

She knew about the Battle of Onogoro, of course. It had come up several times during her training, as a case study in mobile suit tactics. She would never forget the look in Shinn's eyes during those classes, as he endured the terrible memories they must have elicited.

But even so…

"That's why," Shinn turned to walk out, "people shouldn't talk about what they don't understand." And with that, he stormed out.

* * *

_**Kingdom of Scandinavia**_

The lounge was spacious and airy, well-lit by tall, wide windows. The wood-panelled walls were finely carved and polished, a welcome reminder of an older, more civilized age. Outside, in the green fields beyond, an energetic game of Polo was in play, while others simply walked their horses around the elegantly-kept grounds.

A particular set of guests, still in their riding clothes, sat in clusters around the tables, or else leaned against the bar or around the Snooker table. The muttering of conversation was from time to time interrupted by the click and rattle of the balls. They had not come merely for the riding or the Polo, though all of them could ride to a degree. The club served many purposes, this time as a place where they could all gather without arousing too much suspicion from anyone except conspiracy theorists.

The men were very different in many ways. They represented a broad cross-section of the nations and polities of the Earth Sphere, as well as its ethnicities. They came from differing backgrounds, and had entered the industry that united them via different routes. Even in the manner of their involvement there were differences. Some handled manufacturing, others research, and some even handled the marketing.

Either way, they were all members of the arms industry.

They did not allow the fact to bother them much. Each had his or her own distinct perspective. For most their involvement was a practical matter, a question of doing one's job and conducting business. For some, especially those involved in research and development, it was for the unique fulfilment that came from creating something new.

They did not see their business in terms of good and evil. Such terms were crass, simplistic, unhelpful even. To them, a weapon was defined by its use, not its form or its intended purpose. Despite what many in the world might think, to create and provide weapons was no crime. To them, designing and building weapons was ethically no different to designing and building automobiles. Either could kill if used with such intent.

But they were practical enough to know how others saw them. The number was a tiny minority in the greater scheme of things, but in absolute terms they were considerable, and they were loud. Hardly a newspaper was published, hardly an internet article posted, that did not blame their Logos organization for one or another of the Earth Sphere's problems. Some were almost hilariously extreme, claiming as an absolute and incontrovertible truth that Logos was the hidden hand behind all the conflicts and all the military spending in the world. More common was the claim that to create weapons was to fuel warfare, as if soldiers and politicians did not have wills of their own.

That was why they chose to have their meetings in places such as the riding club, in neutral states like the Kingdom of Scandinavia. They valued the privacy, and they were well-protected if some hothead or lunatic should try something rash.

The neutrality of states like the Kingdom of Scandinavia was also very useful in situations such as that in which Logos had found itself for the past two years. It meant that even though the states in which they might strictly-speaking be resident might go to war, they did not have to find themselves on opposite sides. All of them had the wealth and connections necessary to cross borders effortlessly, and actual national loyalties had little meaning for most of them.

But an even more pressing problem had arisen in the past few hours.

"This is a complete disaster," commented one.

"An unprecedented crisis," added another.

"Has anyone ever written one like this?"

"I have received assurances," said a certain voice from by the billiard table, "that this is being investigated."

Djibril, for that was the only name he cared to reveal, regarded the assembled members with cold, hard eyes. He knew what they would say.

"Assurances from your…_associates_?" asked Gal van Saar, of Saar-Chan industries. Djibril was not intimidated by his tone. He knew that they knew about his connection to Blue Cosmos, and its military wing, Phantom Pain. Even so, he did not feel the need to say it aloud.

"I really don't see the point in an investigation," commented Sosetsu Yukihiro of the Yukihiro Conglomerate, which involved itself not only in arms development but also Japan's mercenary industry.

"That," Djibril replied mildly, "is what must be investigated."

"So why are we meeting, Djibril?" asked Mordrin Lockhart, of Lockhart-Cataline, from the other side of the billiard table. "You see, I just can't imagine the governments of the world not doing _everything _in their power to stop that thing from falling." The aging magnate stood up, and began chalking the tip of his cue. "And I know for a fact they're busy with evacuation plans on the off-chance that it _does_ fall."

"I don't mind saying," Djibril spoke up again, in a tone of feigned sincerity, "that this incident has me completely shocked. Junius Seven? How could it be? Why could have caused this? At first, those were the only things I could think about."

"Cut to the chase, will you?" groused Ivan Karpenko, of Aegis Universal, as he lit up a cigar.

"But that's _exactly_ my point," Djibril went on. "Given what's about to occur, the whole world will be asking those same questions." He paused a moment, until he was certain he had their full attention. "And someone has to provide the answers."

"Then why don't you provide some answers," sneered a voice he _really_ didn't want to have to listen to, "regarding that ship up there?" Voices mumbled in agreement, and Djibril had to restrain himself from storming up to that man and punching him in the face.

Bruno Azrael was the cause of a lot of his troubles. The face staring back at him, somewhat reminiscent of the late but not much lamented Muruta Azrael, was a study in emotionlessness. But Djibril had a pretty shrewd idea of what was going on inside his head. He knew that Azrael hated him, because he had hoped to take his cousin's place as leader of Blue Cosmos. Instead, not only had some albino with an assumed name taken it for himself, but that same albino was in the process of shutting down his cousin's pet projects.

Djibril found Bruno Azrael uniquely irritating. The fool insisted on trying to continue with the Extended project, even though it was an obvious failure and a public relations liability. If not for the latter factor, Djibril would have been content to let Azrael waste his resources. He could even let slide the fact that Azrael was his rival for the leadership of Blue Cosmos, following the old saying that one should never hurry to destroy an enemy one could easily defeat.

The other problem, the one that was _really_ getting on his nerves, was that Azrael was one of those forcing the Atlantic Federation's government, against its better instincts, to take a hard line with Eurasia over recent matters, especially the threatened British secession. Azrael's faction, amongst others, had bullied President Copeland's administration into one crass and ill-considered measure after another. Eurasia had retaliated, eventually going so far as to ban Blue Cosmos, declaring it a terrorist organisation. That in itself was a problem, but the bill currently being debated in Eurasia's Federal Council to strike down all anti-Coordinator legislation was even worse.

Djibril could understand the anger Azrael and his followers evidently felt at what they could only have taken as repeated betrayals by Eurasia. But it was obvious to him that they could not control their feelings, or put their ideological devotion in its proper perspective. For want of rational calculation and realism, they could very well bring down that which they were trying to uphold.

"That thing just swung around and charged straight at Junius Seven," van Saar said aloud. "How do we know it won't miss and crash into the planet? It would be almost as bad!" More mumbling, and Djibril could sense the hysteria taking root. Not that it surprised him.

"I doubt," Lockhart spoke up again, "that a state capable of designing and building a ship of that size and power would produce personnel so incompetent as to run their ship into a planet."

"That's as may be!" Karpenko growled. "But what's to say they aren't hostile after all? Maybe they had something to do with it!" The mumbles got louder and more insistent. Djibril felt his temper fraying.

"There's really no point in worrying about it now," he insisted, trying to regain the initiative. "We'll just have to hope that the ship _is _trying to stop Junius Seven from falling after all, though frankly that's just as bad." A quick pause, as he gauged their reactions.

"We really don't know anything about these people," he went on, warming to his rhetoric. "Who are they? What do they want? Why did they come all this way from beyond the asteroid belt? Why did they save us?"  
Djibril knew the answer to the first question, at least. There was only one possible explanation as to how a civilization capable of building such a ship could exist beyond the asteroid belt.

It had to be the Founders, or rather their descendants, Djibril was quite certain. Like all of those present he knew their story, at least that much of it that had survived the century and a half since they had fled the Earth Sphere.

The story of a group of wealthy and powerful men and women who foresaw only stagnation and death in the Earth Sphere. The story of how they had banded together, bringing with them some of the finest minds of their time, to fashion interplanetary spaceships and leave behind the world they thought to be doomed.

They had not been far wrong. Based on what records remained from that time, historians put their estimates for the Founders' departure between 2030 and 2040 AD of the old Gregorian calendar. The first of what was in recent times being called the Reconstruction Wars was generally accepted to have begun in 2040, give or take a year or two. What followed was a period of on-and-off warfare between the superpowers, their second and third tier lackeys, and a few small states trying to go it alone, a period in which human civilization had come with a hair's breadth of utter desolation. The full details would probably never be known, for much of the records of those times had been lost, mostly as a result of cyber-warfare.

Whether or not any of the Founders had survived out there had long been a topic of debate. Some dreamed that they had, concocting visions of a perfect, pure society in the outer planets, free of the corrupting influences of Earth. Others insisted that nothing could survive the radiation and hope to flourish.

Nothing human, at least.

"Of course, there's no way they can stop _all _of it from falling." Djibril felt his confidence rising. He had their attention. "People will die this day, there's no preventing it. But that means there's only one way humanity can respond. With one hand they will reach out," he swept his hand in a theatrical gesture, "to hail their immortal saviours. The other," he clenched his fist and brought it back across his chest, "they will tighten around a weapon, as they look for the one who is to blame." He eyed them, sensing victory.

"And who, gentleman, will they blame? Whom will they trust to lead them, to advise them, in this time of tragedy? Our…_guests_ would have to be insane not to take advantage."

Some of them were visibly unsettled, and Djibril felt satisfaction mingle with his ardour. He knew how to manipulate them. They who were so very clever, so very capable, yet so incredibly limited in their thinking. He knew what words to say, what buttons to press. He knew how to lead them by the nose.

"That is why, gentlemen, we must get our blow in first. You must impress upon the governments the need for a united front, and how important it is that the people understand who the real enemy is." He paused again, waiting for their response. Azrael was as cold-faced as he was before, though Djibril did not seriously expect any kind of response. His rival was all-too-often ruled by his emotions, but that didn't mean he would crack _that _easily.

"What you say is true, Djibril," Yukihiro replied gravely. "But good timing will be crucial, as will your choice of words. If your words are inappropriate, you may end up driving apart those you seek to unite, and our situation will be all the more perilous."

"Indeed," Djibril allowed him a decorous reply, instead of telling Yukihiro what he thought of people who stated the obvious to him. "I am in the process of crafting something…suitably eloquent."

"Damn it man!" Karpenko actually sounded surprised. "You thought that far ahead?"

"I've been thinking about it since this crisis began," Djibril replied, trying not to sound testy. "I've been thinking of a way to avert this brewing war, which serves only the interests of the Coordinators. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to pass up."

He scanned his green eyes over the room. He did not much care for Logos or its members, and he was certain the feeling was mutual. Those men reserved their affection for their families, and for friends whose loyalty they could rely on. What was more, he knew they only tolerated him because he had just enough fingers in just enough pies to be worthy of their attention.

Not that it mattered. _He_ only put up with them because they had things that he needed, namely money and advanced weaponry that he could funnel into Phantom Pain. What was more, he needed the influence they wielded with the Earth Sphere governments if the Atlantic and Eurasian Federations were to be reconciled.

Too much was riding on it. It wasn't just a question of human unity, but human survival. A war between the two superpowers would leave both weakened for many years, regardless of who won. And if the conflict went nuclear….

"I trust, gentleman, that I can count on your support?"

* * *

_**Minerva**_

Athrun felt a pang of sorrow as he stepped through the door and saw Cagalli.

She sat at the desk, in one of those enormous acceleration chairs. The lights were off, casting her face in shadow. She had removed her outer jacket, revealing a white, purple-sleeved military tunic. It held no insignia or badges, reminding anyone who looked upon it that she had never served in Orb's military, and as such had never earned such decorations.

Not that any soldier of Orb would look down upon her for it. She had fought too hard, and suffered too much, for any reasonable person to call her a coward.

Athrun was certain that if any Orb soldiers had been present, Shinn Asuka, if that was his name, would not have walked out of that room. Not without a few broken bones at least.

Cagalli barely looked up as he placed the Styrofoam cup on the desk. But that mere glance let Athrun see her eyes, and the look he saw in them wrenched his heart.

"Cagalli…" He crouched down in front of her, trying to see into her lowered eyes again. "There's no use dwelling on it. You knew there would be people like that."

"I know." Her voice was hoarse, and anger flashed across her face. "But for him…for him to talk about my father that way." She hung her head, but Athrun could see the tears.

"My father suffered! Making those decisions tore his heart to pieces!" Her shoulders began to shudder. "He doesn't know. He _doesn't know…_" She whimpered, and Athrun reached up to let her head rest against his shoulder.

"I know," he said, as gently as he could manage. "But there's no point in trying to make him understand. Right now he doesn't _want _to understand. I know, I've been there."

He had, and that was what had made the encounter so upsetting. The look in that boy's eyes was the same as had been in his own two years earlier. In Athrun's case it had been the Bloody Valentine tragedy, wherein over two hundred thousand Coordinators, his mother, and his father's humanity, had been consumed in a blaze of hatred.

Had it taken his own humanity too?

Athrun sometimes wondered. He wanted to believe that the tragedy had not destroyed him, though it had driven him to enlist in ZAFT. He did not think he had become a particularly cruel or destructive individual as a result. Military training, like war itself, brought out the best in some and the worst in others. He remembered his distaste at the attitudes of some of his old teammates, boys like Yzak Joule and Dearka Elsman, who had found their joy in battle. He remembered Nicol Amalfi, a gentle soul who had joined out of a sense of duty, or perhaps to please his father.

Yuri Amalfi had paid a high price for such pleasure. For Nicol had died in battle, on some nameless island near Orb. He had never committed a crime, never knowingly taken an innocent life. Always he had fought with honour and decency, words too many in ZAFT had scorned or forgotten. Nicol had died trying to protect him. Worse, to protect him from his oldest friend.

The memory still brought tears to Athrun's eyes, even after two long years. For Nicol had done more than protect him. His death had brought Athrun's fury to its zenith, and in so doing allowed it to burn out. For in his subsequent battle with Kira Yamato, a battle in which he seemingly killed his old friend, Athrun's rage at last ran its course.

Nicol had saved his soul.

And who, he found himself wondering, would save Shinn Asuka from his fury, and his grief? Would another pure and blameless life have to be sacrificed? Or would he suffer the fate of those who let their fury rule them? The fate that might have been Athrun's own if not for Nicol?

And Cagalli?

Cagalli raised her head, and Athrun found himself gazing into those bronze eyes, those _beautiful _eyes. Those eyes that were full of sorrow, and brimming with tears.

She flung herself upon him, throwing her arms around him and burying her head in his shoulder. Such was the force of it that Athrun fell back against the bed. He slid his arms around her, holding her slim, warm body close, and willing her sorrow to ease.

"_Cagalli…_"

He loved her. Of that he was quite certain. He did not know if she would ever return his feelings, at least not openly. But he made no demands of her. He would not turn his back on her because of it.

He had no right.

"_Cagalli, please…_" pleaded a silent portion of his soul. "_Please…be sweet, be mine…like before…_"

She had been his once, and only once. That one night a few months ago, after a particularly stressful banquet, their inhibitions loosened by wine. That night when they sat on her bed, talking about one thing or another. That night when they had ceased to care, ceased to be afraid, ceased to wonder who might be eavesdropping.

He couldn't remember the details, save that he had woken up the next morning in her bed, in her arms, naked.

And blissfully happy.

They would not do it, not now, and perhaps not ever again. But Athrun knew that he had found the place where he belonged, and that was at her side.

* * *

_**Girty Lue**_

When Samuel Alvarez entered the hangar, he was not much surprised to see Kensuke Soryu already there.

It was a peculiarity of his, one Alzarez had associated with him for as long as he had known him. He did not know what Soryu got out of it, just standing there staring up at his mobile suit. But he knew better than to try and stop him, or even to ask why. The hangar crew had evidently learned the same lesson, for none of them were present.

There he stood, gazing up at the mighty figure as if it were the idol of some ancient war god. His body was lean and powerful, accentuated by the black and grey flight suit. There was nary a gram of fat or loose skin, nor a centimetre of his frame out of place. The black hair cut brutally short, with a pronounced widow's peak. It was as if his body were a construct, a device of lethal cunning, fashioned by an anal-retentive misanthrope. Alvarez smirked at the thought, at the irony of it.

He was content to wait a few moments, to let Soryu get whatever it was he got out of it, until the younger man acknowledged his presence.

"Sir."

"I take it you're ready, little dragon?"

"Yes sir." It was the eyes that were his most unsettling feature, at least to most people. Many who looked into those cold, narrow eyes claimed that they could not understand him, that he was unreadable to them. Alvarez knew otherwise. They could see perfectly well who and what he was, they merely did not wish to acknowledge it.

"There's an N-Jammer field covering the asteroid," Alvarez went on, deciding to be business-like. "Have you ever fought inside an N-Jammer field, Soryu?"

"No sir." That was no surprise. Few of the N-Jammers dropped on Earth in April of CE-71, the so-called 'April Fool's crisis', continued to function. Some had been dug out and deactivated, but most had simply stopped working, whether by some technical malfunction or crushed by tectonic activity.

Samuel Alvarez had, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. He had sallied at Panama at the controls of a newly-built GAT-01 _Strike Dagger_, and had managed to survive. He had fought in the Victoria campaign, honing his skills learning his tricks as he helped reclaim the city and its vital spaceport for the Earth Alliance. He had spent a year as a mercenary after the war, discovering in that time the aesthetic satisfaction of a well-fought battle, before Phantom Pain offered him a job. He knew as well as any veteran what it was like to fight under the effect of an N-Jammer.

"There's nothing to say, really." And there wasn't. "Just remember you won't have your IFF or me to watch your back. When an N-Jammer's running, you're truly on your own."

"I can handle it sir."

"_Yes,_" Alvarez thought, smiling wryly. "_Perhaps you can._"

"The epicure and the dragon!" sneered a familiar voice from the hatch. Alvarez did not turn round as Auel Neider floated in, followed by Sting Oakley and Stella Louisser. All were in their flight suits.

"The trio," he replied superciliously, turning to glance at them. "Do you intend to do your jobs right this time?"

"Watch it!" the blue-haired Auel snapped, launching himself closer to glare into the mercenary's face. "I'm not gonna take that from you!"

"We can do our jobs just fine," Sting retorted sourly.

"I hope so." Alvarez pointedly ignored Auel. "We wouldn't want to annoy Colonel Roanoke again now, would we?

"That was your fault you bastard!" Auel snapped. "You were supposed to cripple that ship! But you couldn't even get _that_ right!"

"You're in quite a mood," Alvarez quipped. He was in no mood to be intimidated by a bad-tempered Extended. "Have you been taking your meds like a good little addict?"

"Bastard!" Auel swung at him. Alvarez jinked sideways, the fist hissing through empty air. A blur shot past him, and there was Soryu, one hand clamped around Auel's throat. Auel struggled, clawing at Soryu's arm, gagging for breath.

"You," Soryu said, his voice deep and cold, "are annoying me."

"Let him go, Soryu," Sting growled. Soryu ignored him, and Auel's face began to turn blue.

"I said let him go!" the green-haired youth snapped, to no avail. He turned to Alvarez. "Call him off! Alvarez!" Alvarez smirked. This was far too entertaining.

Then he saw Stella. A moment ago she had been cowering behind Sting like a frightened child. But then she seemed to uncoil, moving with a feral grace. All at once he hand fell to her boot, and then she was moving. Alvarez opened his mouth to call out.

"Enough!" Another voice forestalled him. Stella froze, her knife almost at Soryu's throat, her face a mask of cold fury. She kicked at the ground to stop herself, then launched herself at Neo Roanoke, who stood in the open hatchway. Though the upper half of his face was concealed behind his trademark mask, Alvarez could tell that he was annoyed.

"Neo!" Stella wailed, back in her little girl mode. "Soryu's being mean!"

"Enough, Kensuke," Neo ordered, putting a fatherly hand on Stella's head. Soryu obeyed, releasing Auel.

"I won't bother asking what that was about," Neo went on sternly. "We have more important things to worry about, namely Junius Seven. So you three," he ordered the trio, "get to your mobile suits." Sting and Auel glared at him for a moment, then headed off with bad grace. Stella continued to stare up at him, her girlish manner at odds with the dagger clutched in her hands.

"Go on," Neo encouraged her, smiling as he patted her head again. "I'll see you later." Stella beamed, and headed off, the previous confrontation apparently forgotten.

"Alright Kensuke," Neo turned his attention to Soryu. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

"He attacked Lieutenant Alvarez," Soryu replied, his tone a little less cold than usual. "He is intemperate. They all are."

"Would you mind, Samuel?" Alvarez nodded and withdrew, heading for his own mobile suit. Neo stood alone, facing Soryu.

"You're right, Soryu," he said. "They are intemperate. All the same they are useful."

"We don't need them," Soryu retorted darkly. "They are flawed. Like the Coordinators."

"Yes, they are," Neo agreed. "And like the Coordinators, they were made so by others. It is not for us to condemn them for what they are."

"You don't need to feel responsible for them," Soryu insisted, in a rare show of emotion. "If you don't want to kill them, it would be as well to let them go." Neo stared at him, and Soryu lowered his head, just slightly.

"I would rather they did not die," Neo said eventually. "But don't think I won't kill them if that's what it comes down to. They are tools, nothing more, and fate will be their arbiter. Do you understand, Kensuke?"

"Yes, Neo."

"Remember that, next time you think to question my resolve."

* * *

_**Junius Seven Beta**_

It was the Joule Group that reached Junius Seven Beta first.

The two _Nazca _class destroyers slid gracefully through the void, following the falling asteroid along a pursuit orbit calculated to near-perfection.

Such was how Group Commander Yzak Joule liked it.

He was young to hold such a rank, even by ZAFT standards. Commanding anything from two to six warships, a group commander under the new system was equivalent to an OMNI rear admiral of the lowest degree. Yzak knew, with his pageboy-styled silver hair and his fine features, that in the eyes of any OMNI officer he was little more than a boy.

They could swivel on it.

Yzak knew what he was worth. He knew what he was capable of. He knew what he could achieve when he put his mind to it, when he fanned the empyrean flames that drove him ever onward. He had always wanted command, and he knew he could go further.

It was not fear of failure that haunted him in the depths of night.

Yzak scanned his eyes over the _Rousseau_'s bridge. The crew sat at their stations, performing their tasks. They knew he was watching them, and Yzak liked it that way. As a Captain he had run a tight ship, and as a Group Commander he saw no reason to change his approach. He knew from experience what laxity and indiscipline led to, and he was determined that no one under his command would die because of it.

They have never given any indication that they knew who he was, or what he had done. They either did not know, or did not care.

"Deck reports ready to launch!"

"Have them launch, Captain," Yzak ordered, remembering the protocol. Captain Anden Kyme nodded in acknowledgement, and gave the order to launch. He felt the shudder in the deck plates below his feet as the _Rousseau_'s central catapult came online. Through the forward viewport he could see the hatches opening along the inside of the ship's twin arms, presenting the electromagnetic rails. At the same time the circular hatch directly under the bridge slid open, exposing the catapult itself.

"Elsman, ZAKU _Warrior,_ launching!" A sudden shock through the deck, and a dark green shape shot straight out. Yzak watched the mobile suit as it shrank into the distance, thinking of the young man at its controls.

Dearka Elsman was his oldest friend, and one of very few people he truly cared about and was willing to trust, though he would rather die than say it aloud. He feared for a time that Dearka would never fight at his side again, for the Court Martial had not been half so forgiving of Dearka as it had been of him.

He was glad to have Dearka under his command. The new system had produced a fine crop of mobile suit pilots, better if Yzak was honest than he had been when he graduated. With a veteran like Dearka to lead them, one who had endured the same training in order to get his red coat back, they would work wonders.

And they might just be able to perform a simple task like cracking an eight-kilometre-wide asteroid massing over a hundred gigatons. For that purpose Yzak had stopped a PLANT-affiliated mining ship on his way and commandeered their Meteor Breakers. Any one of those bombs could split Junius Seven Beta in two if positioned correctly.

Therein lay the problem. Each Meteor Breaker required two mobile suits to manoeuvre it into position before another could start programming it. Each of the two warships under his command carried a single full team of six mobile suits, for a total of twelve. That meant he could deploy six devices at any one time.

Actually it was going to be three, as Dearka had insisted that his team be allowed to scout ahead of the others, and be in a position to act if anyone got into difficulties. Yzak had agreed, seeing the wisdom of it, though it would slow the work.

"Time to reinforcement?" he ordered.

"_Minerva_ ETA thirty-one minutes." Yzak allowed himself to smile. Finally some good news.

"Gladys made good time," Captain Kyme commented.

"Report coming in from Team-Leader Elsman!" called the Comm-Operator. Yzak launched himself towards the comm console, and nodded at the CO to accept the transmission. Dearka's familiar face, partially obscured by his helmet, appeared on the screen.

"We've just reached the centre point, no contacts," came his voice from the speaker, his lips moving just a little out of sync. "Bal's team is…wait a minute…"

"What?" Yzak demanded, leaning in closer. "What do you see?" Dearka's image narrowed its eyes.

"It's…no, that can't be right." The console beeped, indicating a packet transmission. The CO opened it on the main screen, and Yzak saw that it was a close-up shot of Junius Seven Beta's central pylon. The shot was centred on a blocky-looking object protruding from the pylon. It looked, for all the world, like one of those old-time pocket calculators.

Yzak's blood ran cold.

"Get out of there!"

"Sir?" The CO sounded confused.

"GET THEM OUT OF THERE!" Yzak shrieked, eyes bulging. "All units withdraw now!"

"Group Commander!" Kyme protested, swinging his chair around to stare at Yzak in disbelief. "What…"

"That's a burnt-out flare motor!" Yzak roared, jabbing an accusing finger at the screen. "This was deliberate! It's an ambush!"

"Sir!" called the CO again. "I've lost Team-Leader Elsman's transmission!"

"What?" Yzak snapped, rounding on the unfortunate man. "Get him back!"  
"I can't!" the CO protested, frantically working his controls. "They're being jammed!"  
"Sensors!" Yzak barked. "Analysis!"

"Scanning!" replied the SO. "Sir, it's an N-Jammer field!"

"N-Jammer?" Kyme was incredulous.

"Confirmed sir!"

"Optical scanning!" Yzak ordered, heading for the map table with Kyme in tow. He willed the cold, sick feeling in his stomach to go away as the image of Junius Seven Beta flickered into being. A few moments later a sprinkling of contacts appeared around the main image, all of them coloured grey for unidentified. Yzak waited, gritting his teeth as he willed the Observer to hurry up. He understood the value of a human eye, especially a Coordinator eye, when handling optical scanning, but his best and probably only friend was out there.

One by one, the icons changed colour, green for friendly or red for threat. They raced and danced between the pylons, every so often one of them winking out as a shot or blow struck home. Yzak jabbed at the console, requesting the Observer's best images. They appeared a moment later.

Yzak straightened up, his blue eyes cold and hard.

"Comm, message to _Minerva_." His voice was clipped, even more so than usual. "Message begins. Drop is deliberate sabotage. Elsman and Bal teams are engaged. Enemy mobile suits appear to be GINNs, most likely High Manoeuvre Type 2, numbers unknown. Enemy has deployed one or more N-Jammer units. Request immediate assistance. Message ends. Attach the optical image packet and send."

"Yes sir!"

"Then send a message to Command, advising them of our situation, and tell them we will engage with all available resources." Yzak glanced at Kyme, who nodded his concurrence. "When that's done, continue to attempt communication with the laser. I need any information you can give me."

"Yes sir!"

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Twelve-hundred k to Junius Seven Beta ma'am!" called the SO, whose name Talia finally remembered was Bart Heim.

"Any word from the Joule Group?" she asked.

"Nothing yet ma'am," Meyrin replied.

Talia tried to relax. Being agitated would only cloud her judgement, driving her to rash and ill-considered action.

Having _him_ nearby only made it worse.

Gilbert Durandal had not said a word since he had entered the bridge, but Talia could almost _feel_ his presence. He seemed to hover at the edge of her consciousness like a dark cloud, reminding her of all the mistakes she had made in her life, and all the hard choices.

She had never really expected to see him again. She had _certainly_ not expected to share the same bed as him ever again. And yet it had happened.

Talia was pretty sure no one else knew about it, at least not for the moment. She could read body language well enough to know if they suspected something. Then again, Gilbert had always been discreet. He seemed to have a talent for hiding what he was thinking and doing from others. He had always done so, for as long as she had known him.

And she had known him for a long time.

What they had done a few hours ago was not strictly-speaking _illegal_, as Gilbert was a civilian and therefore not covered by ZAFT regulations relating to inappropriate relationships. But it was dangerous all the same, on so many levels.

She knew Gilbert would never betray her, as he had even more to lose. But there were always risks, especially in a closed system like a spaceship. A sex scandal involving the Chairman of the PLANT Supreme Council and a ZAFT Captain would have all manner of political ramifications. At the very least it would ruin both their careers.

She knew, and hated, the sexual politics that had developed in PLANT ever since the problem of falling birth rates became apparent, back in the days when Siegel Clyne and Patrick Zala were running the show. At first the problem was considered cultural or economic, with some politicians blaming laziness, selfishness, materialism, or a combination of such factors, while others blamed the expense and inconvenience of producing and raising children. No amount of moralizing had solved the problem, and the various incentives had only won over those whose concerns had been economic in the first place.

The problem was genetic.

The Regulated Marriage laws had been presented as a solution to the apparent incompatibility of certain prospective partners. Any citizen wishing to become a parent was required to marry the person judged by the government to be most genetically compatible. Talia to some extent understood why the PLANT citizens had accepted the laws with so little resistance. Back in those days, when persecution and exploitation had left many Coordinators wondering whether their lives had any value at all, the idea of a Coordinator nation, of being a new and better humanity, had been deeply tempting to many. But to call themselves a new humanity, the Coordinators had to be able to breed without the input of the Naturals. If they could not breed, then all their dreams, all their suffering, would be for nothing.

That was why she hated it. She knew what happened when the human body became the receptacle of a people's hopes. Reason, freedom, even compassion would be sacrificed to the pursuit of their dreams. And as harsh reality denied them their wish, they would avenge their disappointment on those who could not deliver.

For all she knew of it, she had nonetheless complied. She had gone along with the laws, despite all the whisperings among her fellow students, the rumours that the laws were as ineffective as they were tyrannical. She had done her part, and ended her relationship with Gilbert to marry the man chosen for her. All for her heart's unanswerable yearning.

A yearning her martyred husband could not fulfil.

The sound of the hatch opening drew her from her dark thoughts. She half-turned her chair, and saw that it was Alex Dino who had entered. The young man's countenance was dark, and Talia suspected she knew why.

"Is something the matter Athrun?" Gilbert asked. "Sorry, _Alex_?" Talia saw a flicker in his eyes.

"I know this is irregular," Athrun said humbly. "But please allow me to assist by piloting a mobile suit." The bridge went silent.

"You know I can't do that," Talia replied. "It's not just giving a foreign civilian a mobile suit." She paused a moment, choosing the words that would confirm or dispel her suspicions. "It would also undermine all of former Chairwoman Canarver's efforts." She saw the flicker in his eyes. She had her answer.

"_So…you _are_ Athrun Zala._"

Gilbert had told her all about it, a few hours ago. He had revealed to her the fate of Athrun Zala, officially listed as MIA after the Battle of Jachin Due and the destruction of the GENESIS weapon. He had told her of how Eileen Canarver, his predecessor, had sent Athrun on his way with a new identity, Orb citizenship documents, and a stern warning as to what would happen to him if he ever returned to PLANT. He had saved humanity from his father's madness, at the price of his name, and his home.

Talia knew what would likely of have happened to him had he stayed. He had not actually killed Patrick Zala, but in the eyes of his supporters he might just as well have done so. He had helped destroy GENESIS, preventing it from firing on the Earth and exterminating the Naturals. To them, Athrun had denied the Coordinators their destiny. She would have given him a week at the most.

"I understand," Athrun replied, matching her gaze. "But I can't just sit around and watch at a time like this. If you have a unit I can use, please let me assist." He bowed his head, in a genuflection he must have picked up in Orb.

"I'll authorise it," ordered Gilbert. Talia stared at him, appalled.

"Chairman…"  
"In this situation, we need as many mobile suits out there as possible." Durandal's tone was sweet reason. "This isn't a combat situation. And we both know that he's perfectly qualified."

"Scanner contact, bearing nine-zero mark four-eight, distance two-four-hundred k!" called the SO.

"Report!" ordered Talia, hoping against hope that it wasn't what she thought it was, even as she welcomed the distraction.

"IFF negative," Meyrin cut in. "Dimensions…" Then she fell silent.

"What is it?" Talia asked, concealing her own disquiet as best she could. "Can you identify?"

"Registry is…negative. It's…big, Captain." Meyrin's chair half-turned, and Talia could see the look in her eyes. "Very…_very _big." The bridge had gone quiet. Dead quiet.

Talia stood up, and headed for Meyrin's station. Leaning over her shoulder, she saw the image on her screen.

"Well then." She almost jumped to hear his voice, though it was barely more than a whisper, from over Meyrin's other shoulder. "It seems the secret's out."

"Mister Chairman," Talia hissed, squeezing Meyrin's shoulder to reassure her.

"I think it's time, Talia." He looked at her with those eyes. "The intercom, if you please, Meyrin."

"Y…Yes sir." Meyrin complied, her hands visibly shaking. "Ready when you are, Ma'am." Talia nodded in resignation, patted her shoulder one last time, then straightened up. She gestured to Meyrin.

"All stations…this is the Captain." She paused, gathering her words.

"At some time within the next hour, you will become privy to what has hitherto been a classified military secret." She scanned her eyes over the bridge, over the crew members staring back at her.

"Approaching Junius Seven Beta is a space vessel of great size and unknown provenance. ZAFT has thus far been unable to make contact with them, and we have no idea of who they are. All we know for certain, based on their orbital approach, is that the vessel began its journey beyond the asteroid belt." She paused, allowing a moment for it to sink in. She could hear the gasps of the bridge crew as it did, and knew that almost the entire crew would be reacting in much the same way.

For what she had told them was impossible. At least until now.

"ZAFT has known of this vessel's existence for the past eight months," she went on. "This secret was kept from you for reasons of national security. It was ascertained, based on the approach pattern they have hitherto maintained, that they would enter lunar orbit within the next three days. It was the intention of the government to make a formal statement at that time." Another pause.

"However, the situation has changed. The vessel has since altered course and accelerated. It will enter the proximity of Junius Seven Beta within the next hour. I say again that we have not made contact with them, and as such we have no idea of their intentions. I want to believe that they've come to help, but that is not an assumption we can afford to make. Chairman Durandal has therefore ordered that the following rules of engagement be adhered to for the duration of this mission. Orders from myself or the Chairman notwithstanding, we will not fire upon, or make any aggressive action towards, the newcomers unless they do so against us." One last pause. It was a lot to take in.

"Our mission remains unchanged. We must prevent the fall of Junius Seven Beta at any cost. Let that be your only concern. That is all." She gestured for Meyrin to deactivate the intercom. She could feel their eyes boring into her as she straightened up and returned to her seat.

* * *

_**Jovian Dawn**_

With practiced ease, Daniel stepped out of the corridor and launched himself into the hangar.

He had come to know the sights and sounds of a battlepod hangar, and the smells were becoming familiar too. The current smell was distinctly metallic, hovering insistently in his nostrils as he floated behind Hannon and Ninin, Damien bringing up the rear. Technical personnel swarmed around the battlepods, standing tall and proud in their alcoves along the walls. Daniel could see them clearly as he drifted past, and could not help but marvel at them.

HAB-02C _Stator, _the latest models. As their proper title of Humanoid Armoured Battlepod implied, the _Stator_s were broadly human shaped. The greaves flared out around the ankles, concealing manoeuvring thrusters. Heavy plates hung from the waist to protect the groin and upper legs. The shoulders were covered by rounded pauldrons, and the broad chest was topped by a somewhat small head, shaped like some ancient battle helmet with a dark chevron visor.

It was a battlepod Daniel knew well. He had first started in a two-seat _Talos_ Trainerwhen he was ten, walking it round the palace grounds with Hannon or Damien. When Ninin had joined them, that very year, they had walked their Trainers side by side. He had first flown a battlepod in space, the previous _Stator _B model, two years after that, on what was supposed to be a quiet trip to the Sinope asteroid colony. A trip in which he had learned a great deal about Ninin, and a fair bit about himself.

All at once the line of armoured shapes changed, and Daniel knew they had arrived. His heart swelled with pride as he saw the three machines, the prototype battlepods granted to his companions.

First was Hannon's HAB- TP3 _Mercury, _somewhat blocky-looking in its battle mode, with its head set in the top of its torso, and the combined thruster and particle cannon units perched on its shoulders. But Daniel knew the blue and purple battlepod better than its current appearance, for he had seen Hannon fly it for the first time just before they boarded the _Jovian Dawn_. With his hands on the controls it was graceful indeed, especially in flight mode.

Next to it was Damien's HAB-EP4 _Nerio._ Bulky, bulging, and brutal, like a _Stator _on steroids, the _Mercury'_s opposite just as their pilots were opposites. Its shoulders were broad, with missile tubes concealed inside, its long arms ending in heavy fists. Wide, curved wings reached out from its back. Whereas the _Mercury_ was designed for swift striking, the _Nerio_ was a brawler, ideal for the impatient, hot-blooded Damien.

Last but certainly not least was Ninin's HAB-EP5 _Cybele_, easily the strangest-looking of them all. Its purple armour flared almost eccentrically at the ankles and elbows, its knees and toes pointing straight out. Its head was long and thin, almost avian, and its fingers were long and curved. Its most obvious feature was its shoulder pauldrons, reaching far out from its shoulders. To a casual observer it was a bizarre and impractical design, but Daniel knew better. It had been designed for Ninin, first in a potential new line of battlepods for pilots with her _particular _talents.

As he passed them, returning his companion's salutes as they headed for their respective machines, he came upon his own.

That he piloted a plain _Stator_ C had been much commented-upon during the journey. All his companions thought he should have something fancier, and apparently some of the other pilots thought so too. But Daniel was more than content with it, for he did not feel that he warranted anything special. His companions were pilots of exceptional skill, capable of getting the most out of an advanced prototype. By contrast he wasn't even a qualified pilot, though that was only because there had been no opportunity to perform his actual flight evaluation while the _Jovian Dawn_ was en-route. With any luck, the Captain would regard the mission as a suitable equivalent, and the gold lanyard would be his.

As he approached his battlepod, painted Royal Guard purple as opposed to Marine blue, he saw First Technician Mika Murain waiting by the cockpit hatch. He recognized her at a distance by her curly brown hair, held in place by a yellow headband. Prince and Technician greeted each other with salutes.

"All in order, First Technician?" Daniel asked, trying not to sound curt.

"All in order, Prince," Mika replied with a grin. "Checked, set, and done."

"Excellent, thank you." And he knew it would be. He had come to know Mika Murain over the two years of their journey, and had heard from Damien many times of her skills.

_Damien. _

A strange compulsion caused him to glance towards _Nerio._ Sure enough there was Damien, hanging onto the cockpit hatch, staring over at him.

No, not at _him. _Daniel turned his head, and saw Mika staring back at him, a slightly wistful look in her blue eyes. He glanced back at Damien, only to see his hatch close. He felt a twinge of sorrow, for he knew what had passed between them and how it had ended, however amicably. He wondered if it haunted them even then.

"Are you all right, Prince?" Mika's voice drew him from his reverie, and he saw Mika regarding him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"I'm…fine, First Technician, thank you." Daniel composed himself, though her question had the unfortunate effect of reminding him just how nervous he was trying not to be.

"Prince?"

"I…" Daniel felt cold and sick inside, but tried to draw himself up. "I…should not be afraid, First Technician Murain." Mika smiled.

"If you said you weren't afraid Prince, I'd call you a liar," she said. "Out of all the pilots I've had play around with my battlepods, the only ones who truly weren't afraid were either insane or lying. And that includes Lieutenant Valorum."

There was nothing special in what Mika had said. Rather it was the way she said it that truly touched him.

"I thought it would be easier," he admitted, "since I've done this before."

"You were much younger then," Mika reminded him. "I know. I was there."

"And I was there too!" Before Daniel could react, a pair of suit-clad legs clamped around his waist, while a matching pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Mika burst out laughing.

"Ninin…" Daniel protested, but to no effect.

"Dandan can't be scared!" Ninin proclaimed cheerfully. "Your champion Ninin is with you! Just like the last time!"

It took Daniel a few moments to disentangle himself from Ninin and ease himself into his cockpit. He slipped on his helmet, heard the sucking noise of the vacuum seal. He strapped himself in, slid his hands into the gauntlets, then set about activating his _Stator._

The battlepod came alive around him, the spherical inner wall of the cockpit showing him the hangar deck outside. It was almost as if his seat was flying through the air, but for the bright green digits and numbers of his HUD. The symbols flowed across the panorama as the final system check reached its conclusion.

All green.

Willing his pounding heart to slow, Daniel _concentrated_. An icon flashed on the HUD, indicating that his comm was transmitting the ready signal to Operations Control up on the bridge. His _Stator_'s Mindframe system was an upgrade, allowing him to make use of his…_abilities_ in flight and combat. Unlike the prototype system in Ninin's _Cybele, _it could only handle certain functions. With any luck, it would not be affected by whatever sort of ECM it was that had been detected emanating from the falling asteroid.

He felt a jolt as the loading crane clamped down on his battlepod. He felt himself moving, being carried across the hangar towards the launch tube. He felt another jolt as the crane set him down. The HUD indicated that the feet were in proper contact with the magnetic plate.

Soon. Very soon.

"All stations prepare for launch tube operations. All battlepods report status."

"Gable, _Mercury,_ standing by."

"Valorum, _Nerio,_ standing by."

"Pulu-Lemo, _Cybele_, standing by."

"Scirocco, _Stator_, standing by." The words came out so easily, without any thought. It was something to feel good about though. Daniel had feared he would stammer the words, such was the pounding of his heart and the pressure in his temples.

"Loading _Mercury_. Stand by for launch." Daniel couldn't see anything past the bulk of Damien's _Nerio_, but the knowledge of it made his heart pound even harder.

"Launching in three…two…one…launching!"

In his mind's eye he could see the sleek, flat shape of Hannon's _Mercury,_ cutting through the void like the finely-honed slaying blade it was. An elegant battlepod, for an elegant warrior.

"Loading _Nerio_. Stand by for launch." He felt the plate slide sideways as the _Nerio_ was loaded into the launch tube. The hatch slid shut, hiding his friend from sight.

"Launching in three…two…one…launching!"

"_Daniel…_"

He felt her presence, warm and familiar, reaching to him from the battlepod to his right.

"_Now…now's your time._"

"Loading _Stator_. Stand by for launch." Then he was sliding sideways again, the plate moving him into the tube. The hatch slid shut, and Daniel found himself staring down the tube. It felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun. A part of him was screaming in panic, willing him to abort, to get out of the tube before it was too late.

"Launching in three…" The mag-plates around him activated, equalizing their fields to draw his battlepod into mid-air. "Two…one…launching!"

And then he was moving, the mag-plates hurling him down the tube, the g-forces seeming to crush him against his seat. All at once the tube fell away, and he was outside. Space filled his vision, bright with starlight and vast beyond description. A scream of mingled panic and exultation tore from his throat as his _Stator _soared free.

"It never gets old!" Damien's voice roared in his ears. "IT NEVER GETS OLD!"

"Calm yourselves!" barked Hannon's voice, cutting through his exultation. "Prince, are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" With all his will, Daniel forced down his instincts. He pressed the footpads down and forward, adding the force of his thrusters to the momentum imparted by the tube. He applied a little pressure right and left, firing the vernier thrusters to ease himself onto just the right course.

He could see the two tiny shapes up head, bordered in green courtesy of the IFF system. His scanner console showed more contacts, with Ninin's _Cybele_ directly behind him and many more _Stator_s spread out around them. Two years of simulator practice took over, guiding his feet on the footpads. Within moments he was in position.

The hemisphere asteroid loomed in front of him, dominating his forward view. It was hundreds of kilometres distant, but even so it seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every passing second. Daniel could already see the brief flashes of explosions, though who was winning the battle he could not say.

"All units." He recognized the stern voice of Marine Captain Severano Zabirov. "Two-hundred k to radiation zone. Maintain formation and stay alert. Switch to opticon as you enter. Squad leaders, ready your beam flags." There was a pause. Daniel checked his HUD one last time.

"Prince Daniel." It was Severano, talking to him directly, over the open channel. "If it please your highness, give the order to unfurl." Daniel was taken by surprise. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist that it was Severano's privilege to give the order.

"Prince." It was Hannon, over a private channel. "Don't worry about it. Give the order."

"But…"

"Dan-dan!" Now it was Ninin. "They want you to!" Daniel breathed in and out, slowing the thundering in his ears. He could feel their eyes upon him. He could feel them waiting for him, waiting to pass judgement.

"Squad leaders!" It took all his willpower, all the skill he had been taught, but the words came out right. "Unfurl…your banners!"

In an instant he could see them. The bright lights of their beam flags, shining to guide them through the darkness.

"Scirocco!" Damien roared.

"Tannhauser!" the Marines added their own battlecry, their voices bellowing over the comm.

Daniel _soared._

* * *

_**Junius 7 Beta**_

Junius Seven Beta was a warzone.

Beams of charged particles lanced back and forth across the void. Here and there a mobile suit could be seen, so fast as to be only a vague shape, flitting from cover to cover.

Dearka Elsman gave a shout of fury as another of his GuAIZs exploded in a flash of white. Nothing on his HUD informed him of this event, for his ZAKU's systems could not currently detect anything. He knew only what his camera and his eyes could see.

He understood in that moment why ZAFT's enemies had hated N-Jammers so much. It was not that he didn't know what to do, for he had trained to fight under its sensor-blinding effects. But that didn't make it any less inconvenient, any less frustrating. Back then he had been just another pilot, a member of the team. Now he was a Team Leader, a disgraced pilot who had lost his red coat under the old system and earned it back in the new. The men and women around him were his responsibility, and because of that N-Jammer he was failing them. He couldn't give orders, or check their status, or even know if they were alive or dead.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he had gone and chosen the Gunner Wizard pack, complete with _Orthos_ heavy beam cannon. Dearka had some experience with such weapons, back when he had the _Buster_, and he reckoned himself a decent shot. But he also knew how useless the damn thing was in mobile suit combat. It was cumbersome, and took too long to recharge.

His console beeped, informing him of a thermal bloom below. Dearka looked, and cursed as he realised who it was. They had hit one of the Bal team's three Meteor breakers, the explosion taking both of the GUAIZs with it. He scanned about, desperate to find _something._

There it was. Emerging from behind one of the support cables to his left. Dearka yanked on the joysticks, pulling his ZAKU round to take aim. His screen registered the contact, marking it as unidentified. With one hand he jabbed at his console, telling the computer to list any such contacts as hostiles from now on, while easing the beam cannon into line with the other. He fired, the deadly beam cutting silently through the void to smash into the pylon. He saw the mobile suit try to move, to dodge. But the beam was too fast, and Dearka hissed in satisfaction as the mobile suit blew apart.

That seemed to get them going. All at once they appeared, swarming from the pylons and cables like so many angry hornets. Dearka could see the enemy mobile suits clearly, painted black and purple, with tall, impractical-looking crests rising from the tops of their heads.

"_GINN_s?"

GINN High-Manoeuvre Type 2. An attempt by Maius Military Industries to keep the GINN range competitive, embraced by ZAFT conservatives in opposition to the newer ZAKU, which they associated with Chairman Durandal and his reforms. Dearka had piloted one, and while it wasn't a bad mech in his book, it was not on the same level as his ZAKU.

And yet they were running rings around him, and inflicting losses upon his subordinates. In Dearka's mind, that meant they had to be ZAFT veterans.

Veterans of the Bloody Valentine War. Like himself.

This one was going to be tough.

The enemy came on, in the triad pattern he remembered from the war. Single file, then splitting in three directions one at a time. Dearka counted at least a dozen. They came in firing, their short-barrelled beam carbines spitting green pulses at his GuAIZes. His pilots took evasive action, jinking and darting to dodge the deadly beams as they fired back with their waist-mounted railguns, and the beam rifles he had _mercifully_ thought to have them bring. They fired as they had been taught, catching the GINNs on their approach runs, and two of them exploded in silent flashes. But the GINNs fired back through the storm, destroying another of his GuAIZes as they finished their run.

Dearka wanted to spit, such was his anger, though doing so in a space helmet would be counter-productive. He should have been leading his team in pursuit, or else to track down the damned N-Jammers and destroy them. But he was stuck covering what remained of the Bal Team, namely three unarmed GuAIZes and an equally unarmed ZAKU trying to heave two Meteor Breakers along between them. Not that they were helpless, for the GuAIZes had their railguns, and all four possessed the standard forehead-mounted CIWS. But without additional weapons they were still at a disadvantage, and in no position even to use what they had. He could not leave them in such a state.

He spun his ZAKU around, looking up and down, left and right, trying to keep as much of the surrounding space covered as possible.

There they were again. Three of them coming on in the same old style. Two broke off, but one of them headed straight for one of his mobile suits. Dearka hauled the beam cannon round, but knew with a sick, sinking feeling that it was too late. He willed the pilot to look out, to see the threat coming, and sure enough the GuAIZ's head rose as the GINN came on. But the GINN was too close. It dived in, drawing a slender, curved sabre from the red-painted scabbard at its hip. With a single smooth motion, it cut the unfortunate GINN in half, then sped away. Dearka wanted to _scream._

"_Damn cocky...!_"

Was that how little they thought of him and his team? Were they so confident, so contemptuous, that they amused themselves by killing his pilots with _sabres_?

He saw another of them, making an attack run at one of the Meteor Breakers. Beams flashed past, and the GINN broke off. Dearka looked to see where they had come from, and saw that it was another ZAKU, this one painted pale blue, with two shoulder-shields and a pair of rotary beam cannons reaching over the shoulders. ZGMF-1001/k ZAKU _Phantom_, Slash configuration.

Dearka felt a flash of renewed hope within him as he caught sight of it. His old friend, now his commanding officer, had joined the battle.

He saw the blue mobile suit gesticulating at him, and recognized the ZAFT hand code requesting laser communication. He complied.

"What's your situation?!" Yzak barked as the comm crackled to life. Laser beam communication was not affected by N-Jammers, but the need for constant uninterrupted line- of-sight made it a pain to use in combat.

"It's bad!" Dearka replied. "I've lost two already and I don't even know who!" That was the real killer. With his ZAKU's battle management system rendered useless by the N-Jammers, he had no way of knowing which of his pilots were among the dead. None of them had yet earned a custom paint job, and only one had a personal logo. Dearka resisted the urge to glance around, to seek the balsam flower among his surviving pilots.

"Word from HQ!" Yzak went on. "Bunch of pilots confirmed AWOL, including Sato's team!"

"Sato?!" Dearka roared. "Fucking Zalaite!"

Sato. Kenta Sato. Damned lousy damned fanatical damned Zala-worshipping damned genocidal damned fucking Sato. Dearka wished he could reach through the void and strangle the life from Sato, the living shame of ZAFT.

Sato, the Zalaite they couldn't kick out. A decorated veteran who talked the talk but never walked the walk, surviving while more outspoken Zalaites were demoted into obscurity, driven out of ZAFT altogether, or even arrested on some pretext or another. Most of them had done _something,_ especially the high-ranking ones.

Damn it all, how had he managed it? How come no one had noticed something? The man had been a smouldering volcano ever since Chairman Durandal began his reform programme. All the Zalaites had been. They hated anything that changed ZAFT into something other than what Patrick Zala had made it.

Had Dearka been inclined to faith, he would have thanked the relevant deity that Athrun was not there. That young man, whom a part of Dearka Elsman would always regard kindly, had suffered enough for one lifetime.

"That's not all!" Yzak's voice cut through his distraction. "The newcomer's here, and they've launched mobile suits this way!"

"Mobile suits?!" As if things couldn't get any more complicated. "What do they want?!"

"How the hell should I know?!" Yzak snapped, evidently in one of his moods. "Just don't shoot at them unless they shoot at you! We have to get on with the…oh _crap_!"

Dearka's console beeped as Yzak's optical scan data beamed along the laser. He followed the indicator, until he saw the three bright lights closing in from another direction. His ZAKU's mono-eye caught them, focussed, transmitting what it saw to the computer, which ran the images through the registry.

_Chaos, Gaia_, and _Abyss._

* * *

"It's them!" Shinn hissed.

"Those three are going down!" Lunamaria proclaimed over the comm.

The four mobile suits, namely the _Impulse_ and three ZAKU _Warrior_s, approached Junius Seven Beta in a circle, hands clasped, looking for all the world like children dancing in a circle. The formation looked risible, but the necessity was unquestionable. For group communication in an N-Jammer field, it was easier to use touch-communication as they were, routing their signals through each other's comms, than to use lasers.

"Remember procedure!" Rey ordered, taking charge as a Team Leader should. "Sign if you want to talk, watch your screens, and don't fly straight for more than a second or you're dead!"

"Got it!" Lunamaria replied curtly.

"Got it!" Shinn replied in turn. Were the situation not so serious he might have resented Rey's insistence on reminding him of procedures he knew perfectly well.

"Understood." The fourth voice, which had not spoken since they had launched, was calm and collected. Or at least it sounded that way.

Could it be him? Could that man really be Athrun Zala?  
He was legend in ZAFT, even after everything that had happened. His career had been illustrious even before his defection to the Three Ships Alliance, but his conduct at the Battle of Jachin Due had been a story for the ages. He and one other mobile suit had managed to penetrate Jachin Due's defences, fighting their way inside to destroy the GENESIS weapon before Patrick Zala in his madness could fire it upon the Earth. It was even said that he had fired the fatal shot, killing his own father, though the one responsible had never been formally identified.

After that he had simply disappeared, along with so many others.

To look at him, to hear him speak, Shinn could believe that Alex Dino was indeed Athrun Zala. Noble in his countenance, stoic in his bearing, and eloquent in his speech. But that just made it worse. Why would he, the great and revered Athrun Zala, want to leave his homeland behind in favour of _Orb_? And worse, why would he do all that just to be with an _Athha_?

The latter was obvious to Shinn. He would not have done what he did, said what he did, if he were a mere bodyguard. No, a far deeper connection had driven him to defend that…_girl_ back in the lounge. It was _loyalty_, it was _devotion. _It was _love._

Luna and Mey could squeal about it all they wanted. The thought of it made Shinn sick. He couldn't make sense of it.

But now was not the time.

"Crossing the border," Rey said. "Detach in five…four….three…two…one…detach!" The comm went silent as the quartet broke apart. Shinn tweaked his joysticks, easing the _Impulse _around and onto course.

His mobile suit's sensor package was one the recent and most sophisticated ever made by ZAFT. The optical system was especially good, to the point where he could fight inside an N-Jammer field and not feel all that disadvantaged. The telescopic cameras could see the contacts clearly, at least at so short a range as this, and the computer was keeping them logged.

He could see the three stolen prototypes. They were attacking, firing indiscriminately on ZAFT and renegade mobile suits alike. They must have assumed that ZAFT was deliberately carrying out the drop. Shinn gritted his teeth, as he thought of what was very likely to happen, even if the drop was prevented.

And time for that was running out.

The one thing going for them was that the arrival of the stolen prototypes had caused as much trouble for the renegades as it had for the Elsman and Bal teams. No longer able to attack at their leisure, the renegades were trying to fight off those thieves as well, and having just as hard a time of it.

Well, it was something.

As the other three moved in, Shinn held back. For the moment his role was to act as their AWACS, meaning he had to keep them in line of sight at all times. He saw the three ZAKUs break off, Rey's white machine moving to engage the _Abyss_, Luna's red machine going after the _Gaia_, while Athrun's green took on the _Chaos_.

It was maddening. Shinn yearned to join them, or at least to go after the N-Jammers. There would be at least four of them, stationed equidistant around the central pylon, and it was pointless trying to fight without communications. But he could not just abandon Rey and Luna, his teammates.

And the nearest things he had to friends.

He tweaked the joysticks again, keeping them all in line of sight.

"Shinn!" It was Meyrin via laser. "Be advised! The newcomer has launched mobile suits!"

"What?!" Shinn jabbed at his console, aiming the _Impulse_'s head to what he knew was the newcomer's approach vector. The contact appeared on his left screen, the camera magnifying to bring the image into focus.

He could not get over how _big _it was, maybe two kilometres in length and many hundreds of metres across at its widest point. The rear of the ship was a blocky mass surrounding a cluster of engines, taking up maybe a third of the ship's full length. The prow was long, sloping down to a point like some old-time tumblehome ship. Four massive twin-gun turrets were visible, two dorsal and two ventral, arranged so that all four could fire straight ahead.

The sight was enough to send a shiver down his spine. Who were they? What did they want? Had they _really _come from beyond the asteroid belt?

Sure enough, there were the smaller contacts, sixteen of them, speeding away from the ship on the same vector. They were closing rapidly, and he could just about make them out. All followed the same broadly humanoid configuration that he was accustomed to. The flaring ankles and rounded shoulders put Shinn in mind of the ZAKU, thought the head was noticeably different, more like that of one of OMNI's new _Windam_s. They seemed to be flying in groups of four, with one of each group flying what looked like a banner from its back. Shinn wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that the banners were made of _light_.

"_Really smart,_" he thought sourly. "_Tell everyone who the team leaders are. Way to get yourselves killed._" Or was that how they were dealing with the N-Jammers?

"I see them," he replied. "Have you made contact?"

"No!" Meyrin sounded distressed, more so than he was used to. "They're not responding! I don't even know if our equipment's compatible!"

"Well keep trying! I'm gonna try and talk with them!" Shinn cursed as he returned his attention to the approaching mobile suits. As welcome as their help would be, if they could not be coordinated with the ZAFT mobile suits the result would be utter chaos.

The newcomers passed Junius Seven Beta's outer edge, and the renegades reacted. A cluster of nine GINNs moved to engage them, and Shinn could see more heading their way. It was obvious to him why they were doing it. Better to take on the interlopers, and thus leave the ZAFT loyalists to face _Chaos, Gaia, _and _Abyss_, than to remain in the confused melee.

One of the newcomer mobile suits broke away from the pack. Shinn saw that it was different from the others, a mobile armour of some kind. It accelerated, racing towards the eight GINNs. Shinn silently honoured the pilot's daring, though it would soon get him killed.

But it didn't. The mobile armour approached in a corkscrew pattern, rotating over and over to throw off the volley of particle beams. It fired back, its shots coloured an electric blue, and one of the GINNs blew apart, the mobile armour flashing through the gap.

Shinn half-expected the manoeuvre to throw the GINNs into chaos. But the renegade pilots were even to the challenge, with one three-GINN team heading off after the mobile armour while the others readied themselves to face the newcomers. The main force began its attack run, blue and green beams criss-crossing in the closing gap. Shinn glanced back and forth, trying to find a newcomer he could confront.

Then he noticed a group of three mobile suits, moving as a group. One of the three was identical to the others, but purple rather than blue, flying a beam flag. The other two were strange-looking designs, painted in the same shades of purple as the mobile armour.

Shinn aimed the _Impulse _at the purple mobile suits, and accelerated.

* * *

Daniel swallowed, trying to stay calm.

Before him, the void was lit up with explosions as Damien fired off his missiles. The hot-blooded pilot boiled straight in, the two gun drones leaping from the _Nerio'_s back to add to the fire from his heavy particle rifle. The enemy battlepods scattered, vanishing like smoke in the wind. The _Nerio_ blazed after them, firing wildly.

Daniel felt a twinge of worry. Damien was a fine pilot, better than himself, but his hot blood made him his own worst enemy. He pressed down the pedals, aiming the vernier thrusters with movements of his feet. His _Stator_ responded smoothly, easing itself into the turn.

A flicker of…_something_ drew his attention up and to his right. He saw the shape banking towards him.

It was happening again. The hunches, the sensory flickers, and the unanswerable compulsions. It was happening, as it had happened at Sinope. Already he could feel it, all around him, as the panoramic monitor let him see. It was like a dark cloud around him, crowding him, crushing him. The fear and the fury, the penumbra of a battle.

And something else. Something lingering around the asteroid, something cold, and dark.

He fought to regain control, to focus his racing mind. He pressed down on the pedals, doing his best not to press too hard, bringing his _Stator _around to face the threat. His drones shone red, the HUD informing him that the computer could only maintain the datalink at the minimal distance due to the curious jamming effect.

He had no choice.

The drones reacted, leaping from the battlepod's back and fanning out into position. The two shield drones lingered nearby, ready to move and block any attack, while the two gun drones moved further out, ready to bracket the target. He moved his right gauntlet, bringing up the particle rifle. He concentrated, keeping the drones under control.

He could see the enemy battlepod clearly. It was vaguely human-shaped like his own, though somewhat blocky in form, painted black and purple, with a tall crest rising from its forehead and curved wings spreading from its back. Its cyclopean eye glowed a malign red as it swivelled to focus on him.

It was angry. It was furious. Rage seemed to come off it in waves, spreading out to wash over him. The waves buffeted his mind, weakening his grip on the drones. Daniel felt his insides clench as he concentrated. He could not lose control, not now.

Then he sensed it. A surge of bloodlust from the black battlepod. The will to kill.

As the enemy fired, his shield drones were moving. They banked in, their particle shields glowing hemispheres before them, ready to take the blow. Daniel saw the green bolts hit, the shallow hemispheres glowing as the deadly energy was redirected over them. A single bolt passed them by, racing across the void towards him. Daniel moved his left gauntlet, bringing up his shield. The kite-shaped combat shield had a particle shield of its own, and he felt the slight jolt as the bolt struck.

Anger crashed into his mind like one of Damien's body-slams. Willing his mind to resist, Daniel levelled his rifle and fired back. The gun drones did likewise, sending a deadly triple-vector fusillade at the black battlepod. But the enemy was equal to the task, verniers glowing bright as it jinked up and down, left and right. The shots went wide, and momentum took the black battlepod past him. Daniel could see it as passed, thanks to the panoramic monitor, that red eye still staring at him.

He spun the _Stator_ around, willing the shield drones into place lest the black battlepod fire. He need not have done so, for the enemy pilot had not made that amateur's mistake. As his target broke away, coming around in a graceful arc, one of its fellows began an attack run in its support.

A warm presence touched his mind, like the brush of a hand. The _Cybele_ raced past, banking towards the oncoming battlepod, the sight making Daniel's heart leap. Tiny starlights leapt from the _Cybele_'s back, swarming around like fireflies. The starlights darted here and there, spitting electric-blue beams to bracket the unfortunate battlepod, searing and tearing at its armour. In an instant Ninin administered the coup-de-grace, particle beams blazing from _Cybele_'s wrists to finish the trapped battlepod.

For all he admired it, Daniel could not help but envy her power. The knowledge of it shamed him, for he knew the price she had paid for it.

Still the fury and hate of his opponent pressed down upon him. It was a boon, for because of it his enemy could not hide himself. It was a curse, for he could feel nothing else, as if someone was screaming in his ear, or shining a light in his eyes.

His eyes followed his mind, and saw the enemy battlepod coming again. The pilot was furious, frustrated, wanting nothing more in that brief moment than to erase him from existence. Daniel felt cold in his stomach, and knew that he would have to destroy his tormentor lest he be destroyed himself. He had to fight the hatred, the emotional white-noise that smothered his senses.

If he did not fight it, the fear would overwhelm him.

He fired.

Daniel saw it all, and would see it for the rest of his days. The particle bolts tore through the battlepod's plastron, and time seemed to slow down as the mortally-wounded machine continued to advance.

Then it exploded, vanishing in a sphere of light. And with the light came a final unseen blow, one last invisible wave crashing over him. An instant of incandescent rage, and fear as cold as a neutron star. It passed over him and through him, chilling his soul. And then it was gone.

For a few moments, Daniel could not think, nor could he act. The knowledge of it, the horror of it, played over and over in his mind. He knew what he had done. He knew the nature of it.

The movement of a shape on the panoramic monitor brought him to lucidity. He focussed, and his heart skipped a beat to see another battlepod hovering in front of him.

Its shape was noticeably different from the battlepod he had just destroyed. Its shape was blocky where the other had been rounded, and rounded where the other had been blocky. Its colours were different too, a vibrant white, blue, and red. But most striking of all was its head, a crest of resplendent cold upon its crow like a regal crown, its green eyes regarding him with what might have been curiosity.

Who was it?

But before Daniel could react, something shot in front of him, blocking his view.

It was _Cybele._

* * *

Shinn started as the strange-looking mobile suit darted in front of its fellow. It was all he could do not to open fire.

The purple mobile suit did not attack either. Instead it flapped its arms, gesticulating frantically at him. Shinn was taken aback, for he had never seen any mobile suit move like that.

"What?!" he demanded aloud. Time was running out, and there were better things to be doing than staring at that bizarre display. "What are you trying to tell me?!"

The strange mobile suit paused, then its movements became more measured. It pointed at itself, then jabbed a long-fingered hand towards the ship from which it had launched. It then pointed at the central pylon, then proceeded to perform a set of star-jumps.

"What does that mean?!" Shinn barked, losing his temper. The mobile suit paused again, then turned and launched itself towards the nearest pylon, drifting nearby like a massive frond of seaweed. Shinn watched in bemused curiosity as the mobile suit activated a beam saber, set into its wrist, and began to carve something into the pylon.

"We equals four heart heart smiley face?!" Shinn spluttered, bewildered by the symbols. "What does that mean?!" The mobile suit flapped its hands in apparent frustration.

Then the other mobile suit, the one he had been watching, moved forward. It stopped, only a short distance away, and held out one hand.

Its meaning was plain. Shinn paused, uncertain. To clasp hands with that mobile suit would be an irrevocable act of trust, one that could get him killed.

But time was running out. He had abandoned his comrades in order to carry out this desperate mission, and Junius Seven Beta was no closer to being broken up.

The strange mobile suit flew closer, taking up position next to the mobile suit in front of him. Its demeanour was protective, distrustful, but it did not seem to want to interfere. Stilling his pounding heart, Shinn reached for his console.

It beeped suddenly, showing a request for laser communication.

"Shinn what are you doing?!" Lunamaria's face demanded.

"Stay back Luna!" Shinn replied, more forcefully than he intended. "I have to do this! Just watch my back!" Lunamaria did not reply, and Shinn lost patience. He keyed for touch communication, and the _Impulse_ reached to clasp the purple mobile suit's hand. The computer set to work, and Shinn felt his body clench with tension.

A beep from the HUD. Contact.

"All right! Who are you and what do you want?!" The words came out in a flood.

"No time to explain." The voice was male, of about his own age, with an accent he could not place. "But you must flee. We mean to destroy this object."

"That's what we're here to do!" Shinn replied.

"But which of you?" the voice asked. "Who means to destroy it, and who means it to fall?"

"It's not us!" Shinn protested in reflex. "It's those GINNs! They're trying to drop it!" It occurred to him too late that the newcomer might or might not know what a GINN was. "Look, what's your name?"

"Daniel."

"Okay, Daniel, I'm Shinn, and this is Lunamaria." It was ridiculous, but it had to be done. "The black and purple machine you fought a minute ago. Those are the enemy. They want it to fall."

"I see. But you must tell your company to evacuate."

"I would if I could! But we have to take out the N-Jammers! We can't use lasers this far in, not with all this junk!"

"N-Jammers?" the voice asked. "The devices projecting the radiation?"

"Yeah. If we take out the nearest one that should be enough!"

"Very well. Lead and we will follow."

"Let's grab hands so we can talk!" Shinn reached out _Impulse_'s free hand to the red ZAKU. "You too Luna!"

The four mobile suits formed a ring and headed for the central pylon.

Their movement did not go unnoticed.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Time to point of no return?"

"T-minus ten minutes."  
Talia gripped the armrests of her acceleration chair. The situation seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

"Meyrin, any luck contacting the _Impulse_?"

"Negative ma'am. The debris is interfering with the laser."

"And the newcomer?"

"The N-jammer field is in the way," Meyrin replied. "We can't contact them from this position."

"Captain!" Arthur bleated. "We can't get any work done like this! We have to go after Bogey One!" Talia bit her lip.

"Mr Chairman," she said, half-turning her chair to look up at Chairman Durandal. "What's your assessment of Bogey One's current involvement? Are they renegades? Or part of the Earth Forces?"

"Well," Gilbert mused, "I certainly hope they're not part of the Earth Forces."

Chief Representative Athha was there too, seated at the map table along with the Chairman. She had arrived only a few minutes after the mobile suits had launched, and the look in her eyes told Talia everything she needed to know. She could not have made her feelings regarding Athrun more plain if she had been banging on the viewport howling his name.

"_So that's why,_" she thought, regarding those bronze eyes for a moment. "_He did it for her_."

"If they were," she replied pensively, "they would have no reason to attack us."

"What if…" Gilbert spoke up, "they think we're protecting those GINNs?"

"They couldn't!" Arthur protested, evidently shocked.

"It can't be helped," Talia interjected, understanding instantly what Gilbert meant. "If those machines were Daggers, and an OMNI ship showed up, we'd be pretty suspicious too."

"Can we make contact with Bogey One?"

"There's the International Rescue channel," Talia replied. "But the Bogey One is maintaining an opposing orbit around Junius Seven Beta. We can't transmit through the N-Jammer field."

"They're avoiding us," Gilbert mused. "Did we damage them that badly?"

"Bart," Talia turned her attention to the SO. "What's the newcomer's status?"

"They've matched our velocity," Bart replied. "Nothing since they launched mobile suits."

"Image coming up from optical!" Meyrin called. "Captain…it looks like Shinn and Lunamaria managed to make contact with two of the newcomers! They're heading for the central pylon!"

Talia cursed.

* * *

Lunamaria Hawke had a bad feeling about this.

She knew she was really supposed to trust Shinn, since he was team-mate. They were friends too, or at least she thought of Shinn as a friend, but if anything that was reason to treat Shinn's decisions with at least a degree of scepticism. She had known him for just over a year, since they had both started at the academy, and knew him well enough for that.

Now she was flying in a quartet with Shinn and two newcomer mobile suits, the pilots introducing themselves as Daniel and Ninin. She had to stop herself from bombarding them with all the questions she wanted to ask.

Such as how old Ninin was really. She sounded like a little kid.

The quartet skimmed close to the surface, over the rooftops of what had once been a thriving city. Lunamaria did her best not to look down, more than a little fearful of what she might see down there. She had heard some ripe tales about Junius Seven, most of it little more than spacers' ghost stories. But there were other stories too. She had heard of bodies being found inside buildings, pristine and unblemished, dead from asphyxiation in seconds or minutes. Mothers holding their babies, faces set forever in maternal tenderness. Young children asleep in their beds, or at their desks at school. Vehicles sitting where they had halted, their drivers still at the controls. Countless lives, frozen in time, like those bodies found at Pompeii centuries ago.

Lunamaria cursed herself. Now wasn't the time.

There it was, an antenna array set into the base of the pylon. The renegades had evidently rigged it out of an old radar unit. Not the best way, but doable if you knew how, and less likely to attract suspicion than an entire N-Jammer going missing from the breakers yard. All the same, they must have been preparing for days, weeks maybe.

Four GINNs emerged from the nearby wreckage, beam carbines at the ready.

"Okay!" she ordered. "One each!"

"Got it!" Shinn replied.

"By your will," Daniel and Ninin replied in unison. The four split up, and Lunamaria keyed for her beam rifle. After the troubles she had with the _Orthos_ the last time, she had decided on the standard rifle. It took only a few moments for the ZAKU to draw the rifle, and the targeting reticule to appear on her screen.

She aimed with practiced calm, controlling her breathing, the reticule sliding across the screen with the movement of her joysticks. She pressed lightly on her pedals, following the corkscrewing GINN until her mind absorbed its pattern. She had already had to fight the _Gaia_ again that day, and she was in fighting trim.

"_Now._"

She fired. The bolts flew, the GINN jinking away to avoid them, straight into a burst from the _Impulse_'s beam rifle. Lunamaria hissed in satisfaction as the GINN blew apart. She looked around, and saw Daniel and Ninin cooperating against another of the GINNs. They were obvious used to working together, as the unfortunate GINN went down quickly.

Two left. Lunamaria saw Shinn go after one of them, while Ninin's mobile suit committed to the other. Seeing her chance, she took aim on the N-Jammer. But then something was wrong. She found she couldn't concentrate on it. Something was nagging at her, drawing her attention somewhere else. Irritated with herself, she gave in and looked.

It saved her life.

She saw the contact in the corner of her eye, slamming down her feet to evade. Her ZAKU soared away, the volley of shots slashing through the empty space she had occupied an instant earlier. She glanced around, looking for her attacker, and saw a blood-red mobile suit diving in towards her. The same blood-red mobile suit from Armoury One, the mobile suit that looked sort-of like a _Dagger_, but wasn't.

Lunamaria gritted her teeth, as she remembered that there had been _two _of them. So where was the black one?

No time for that, as the red _Dagger_ was firing again. She dodged, coming around to return fire, only to find the target wasn't there. A flash of instinct made her drop back, and the crimson machine flashed down, glowing beam saber in hand. Lunamaria dropped her beam rifle, her ZAKU's left hand grabbing it as she drew her beam axe and slashed at the _Dagger_. The _Dagger _fell back before the onslaught, and Lunamaria saw her chance, snapping up the rifle.

But the _Dagger_ was faster, barely blasting away as she fired. Forcing down her frustration she spun round, looking for its companion. She saw it, a short distance away, in the middle of a beam saber duel with Daniel. There was no sign of Shinn or Ninin, only the blood-red _Dagger _coming in for another run, too close to use her rifle. She swung with the axe, the _Dagger _catching the blade on its own. With a fencer's grace the _Dagger _slid its blade free and swung again, and Lunamaria slammed down on the pedals to get back out of the way. The blade sliced through her ZAKU's left wrist, tearing away the hand, and the beam rifle clutched in it.

Lunamaria screamed, half in fear, half in frustration, as the momentum took her back away from the _Dagger_. She brought up her axe, ready to die standing, knowing her CIWS would be useless against a mobile suit's armour.

But the _Dagger _did not attack. Instead it just hovered where it was for a moment. Then it pointed its beam rifle out away from itself and fired. Lunamaria stared in disbelief as the beam tore into the antenna, ripping it apart in a shower of sparks.

"Magnificently fought, my dear." The voice over the suddenly-restored comm was rich and cultured. "Forgive me if I don't finish, but I think you people have some work to do. Excuse me while I round up this lot." And with that, the red _Dagger_ turned and blasted off, soaring away into the void, followed a moment later by its black counterpart. Lunamaria stared after it for a moment, then remembered where she was.

"Shinn! Daniel! Ninin!" she yelled. "Are you guys okay?!"

"I'm fine!" Shinn replied, the _Impulse _dropping into view. "What was that all about?!"

"I've no idea!" Lunamaria replied. "But we have to tell the others!"

"Right!"

* * *

"You son of a bitch!"

"You lousy alien invader!"

Damien was lost in a battle fury. The weird-looking blue and white battlepod had given him no end of trouble since he blundered into the duel it was fighting with that white battlepod. Said white battlepod had, of course, promptly taken its leave, leaving _him_ to clean up.

"Giant flying blue egg!" He thrust forward his gauntlets and squeezed the triggers, releasing a burst of particle bolts from the blasters mounted under his _Nerio_'s forearms. The blue battlepod dodged, a few of the bolts singeing its long pauldrons, which it then flung back to return fire. Daniel brought up his forearms to block, the shields catching the beams.

"Damn it!"

"You can't get me!" he sneered. "Gonna try that funny-looking spear now?!" Sure enough, the blue battlepod dived straight at him, dagger-axe raised high. Damien jinked right, the blade sliding down his left forearm shield.

"Lightning Fist!" _Nerio_ reacted, its clenched fists glowing and crackling. Damien lashed out, catching his foe full in the torso. The blue battlepod was flung back, the armour melted and scorched where the deadly fist had struck.

"You wrecked my paint-job! You're gonna pay for that!"

"Gotcha!" he roared! "That's what you get for annoying me!"  
"You're the one who's annoying! You and your weirdo mobile suit!"

"You're the weird one! Your battlepod looks like an egg!"

"Your mobile suit looks like an orang-utan! A purple orang-utan!"

"Your…! Wait a minute!" The penny dropped. "How come I can hear you?!"

"The N-Jammer's down you idiot!" snapped the voice of the blue battlepod. "You're so stupid you didn't even notice!"

"Who's stupid?!" Damien snapped, glancing at the face that appeared on his HUD. "Ha! What's with that face?! And that hair?! You look like a girl!"

"And where's yours?! Or are you so ugly you can't bear to…ah frig!" The blue battlepod turned away. "I'll get you next time!" Its engines flared, and the battlepod flew away.

"Hey, if it's working!" Damien glanced around the cockpit, looking for the others. "Prince, are you out there?!"

"Damien!" Mercifully his Prince's voice replied. "The jammer is destroyed! We need to withdraw!"

"All right! I'm on my way!"

* * *

"Please repeat!" Athrun couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Confirmed!" Shinn insisted. "All mobile suits withdraw now! The newcomers are going to fire on Junius Seven Beta and break it up!"

"How do you know this?!" Athrun demanded. "Have you made contact?!"

"Yes! They've got missiles ready to fire from their ship! Have you seen the Joule Group's mobile suits?" Athrun glanced at his sensor screen.

"Negative!" he replied. "They must be still inside the jamming zone. I'll go and tell them!"

Athrun turned his green ZAKU towards the pylon and piled on the thrust. As the mobile suit accelerated, Athrun glanced back and forward, desperate for any sign of them.

A bright flash near the base of the pylon drew his attention, and once again the sensors and comm declared themselves online again. Yzak's mobile suits had evidently found another of the N-Jammers. He keyed for open band transmission.

"Calling all Joule-Group mobile suits! The newcomer ship is about to fire on Junius Seven! Withdraw immediately!" For a few seconds there was no response, and Athrun wondered if they had heard.

"Bastard!" It could only be Yzak. "What the hell are you doing here?!" Athrun's heart sank.

"That's not important right now. What matters is you all get out of here!"

"Tell them to wait!" Yzak retorted harshly. "We've still got one Meteor Breaker left! It's still drilling!"

"I can't!" Athrun protested. "We have to detonate it now!"

"I'm the one in command here!" Yzak snapped back. "Don't try to give me orders, you _damned civilian_!"

"Stop it Yzak!" Athrun recognized Dearka Elsman's voice instantly. "Quit being stubborn!"

"All units!" It was Meyrin, sounding near the end of her tether. "The newcomer ship has launched missiles! All units withdraw now! Impact in sixty seconds!" Athrun looked back towards the newcomer, and instantly saw the eight white contrails reaching out from its spear-like bow.

"You heard her!" Athrun pressed, cursing his former comrade's legendary stubbornness. "Detonate it now, before the missiles enter terminal phase! It's our only chance!"

"Yzak, you know he's right!" Dearka added. "And our batteries are low!" For what seemed like an eternity, there was only the sound of heavy, angry breathing.

"All right! All units RTS, repeat, RTS!" The GuAIZes launched away from the pylon, heading for the safety of their motherships. Athrun could make out the blue ZAKU that had to be Yzak's, bringing up the rear.

"Hold onto your butts!" The asteroid lurched, and a sudden shockwave buffeted Athrun's ZAKU. The asteroid shuddered as the fissures tore their way out from the pylon, sending up clouds of dust and debris. Slowly, ponderously, Junius Seven Beta came apart.

"T-minus fifty seconds!"

Athrun glanced back at the oncoming missiles. Already he could see them, light gleaming silver off their reflective coatings, their rear ends blazing bright. He only hoped the newcomers could make the appropriate course corrections.

"Why are you still here!" demanded Shinn, the _Impulse_ matching his vector so that it seemed to hover nearby. "Do you wanna get blasted!"

"Wait Shinn!" Athrun's heart skipped a beat as he saw three lights detach themselves from the pylon and head straight for the missiles. There was only one explanation.

"Shinn! You see them?!"

"Yes!" Athrun slammed down the pedals and boosted after the three GINNs. Shinn followed, needing no further encouragement.

"Tell me one thing," Shinn said, his voice hard. "Why do you side with a country like Orb? Why side with _her_?" Athrun thought of refusing to answer, of chiding the younger pilot for asking something like that at such a time.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Athrun gritted his teeth, willing the ZAKU to go faster. He could see the three GINNs clearly, one of them missing its right leg. It was carrying a curved version of the standard GINN sabre, a sword of honour given to distinguished veteran pilots.

He knew who they were.

"No!" The voice, broadcasted on an open band, caught Athrun by surprise. "You won't interfere! You won't deny us our vengeance!"

"Stop this!" Athrun pleaded. If they managed to shoot down even _one _of the missiles, assuming they were powerful enough in the first place, then what remained might still devastate the Earth. "Stop this, Commander Sato!" They drew level, and Athrun aimed his ZAKU on a course to block the GINNs' line of fire.

"My daughter's tombstone must fall!" the voice of what might have been Kenta Sato went on. "It must fall and be burned for this world to change!"

"His daughter?" Shinn asked, bewildered and horrified. "Who are they?"

The maimed GINN dived at Athrun, sword held high. Shinn charged one of the others, cutting it in half with his beam saber. The third dived straight at the nearest missile, screaming like a damned soul. Shinn raced after it, accelerating past to dive in front of it. The GINN grabbed the _Impulse,_ wrapping its legs around, then exploded. The _Impulse _was thrown back, scorched and blackened.

"Why have you forgotten the sorrow of the lives thrown away here?!" Sato demanded, lashing out with his sword. "You're living in a damned dream world, laughing with those who caused this!"

"Commander Sato!" Athrun pleaded, though he feared it was futile. "Commander Sato, enough!"

"The cowardly successors of Clyne have deceived us!" Sato roared, lashing out again and again. "They've corrupted and weakened ZAFT!"

Athrun could not bear the thoughts his words brought forth. Memories invaded his mind's eye, memories of all that he had done, all that he had destroyed, all that he had lost. The iconic, horrific image of Junius Seven's destruction played out again in his mind, and for a moment he was that young boy again, staring up at the screen on which it was playing, knowing that his mother was in there.

But then he saw Heliopolis too, in the destruction of which he had played a lesser but undeniable hand. The wheel had turned full circle.

"Why can't you see?!" Sato screamed, and Athrun could have sworn there was a note of desperation, of hopeless pleading. "The only true path for Coordinators was the path Patrick Zala chose for us!"

The words chilled Athrun to the core, and that moment's hesitation was all Sato needed. The GINN struck, cutting down through the ZAKU's right arm. Athrun fell back, firing his CIWS in desperation, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off the GINN's plastron. Sato raised his sword high.

"_Cagalli, I…_"

The boomerang struck. The GINN exploded.

For a few moments Athrun could not move. When he finally managed to turn and look, he saw the _Impulse_, struggling to match his vector, one arm outstretched.

The missiles were past him, four banking away towards each massive half. Athrun watched them as the seconds counted down. He hoped, wished, _prayed. _

Junius Seven Beta vanished in a flash of light. The ZAKU's screen went black, protective irises sliding shut to protect the delicate electronics. Even at such a distance, Athrun felt the shockwave buffet him.

The camera came back online, and where there had once been a halved hemisphere, there was only a cloud of debris, pocked here and there with larger pieces. Red streaks fanned out around it in all directions as the blast hurled superheated rock shards away. The sight was beautiful and terrible in equal measure, and for what seemed like an eternity Athrun could not tear his eyes away from it.

Below him, the _Minerva_ manoeuvred into position, its prow opening to reveal the rumoured _Tannhauser_ positron cannon. Athrun watched in wonder as the cannon fired, a radiant stream coursing through the empty space. He saw it strike one of the larger pieces, and in his mind he imagined positrons and electrons coming together, and the inevitable annihilation. The rock vanished in a flash of light.

Then the newcomer did likewise. The mighty turrets fired, pale blue beams lancing out to strike more of the meteors. It fired again and again, and the _Minerva_ pitched in with its own beam cannons. The _Voltaire _and the _Rousseau_ were firing, and Athrun could have sworn he could see more weapons fire in the distance.

Was it Bogey One?

"Wow…" Shinn breathed. "That was…"

* * *

"Did we do it?" Daniel asked half-rhetorically, entranced by the sight. He never thought he would see the _Jovian Dawn _fire her guns, and he would not have missed it for anything.

"Can't say," Damien replied, moving his _Nerio _alongside Daniel's _Stator_ on their course back to the _Jovian Dawn_. "But it's gotta be better than letting it fall."

"Yes," Hannon agreed. "A great many lives were saved this day."

Daniel could see it clearly, the forward portion of the monitor split to show him the events unfolding behind. The bulk of the asteroid, which the Terrans had named Junius Seven, appeared to have been destroyed. Some of its mass would have been annihilated, consumed in the nuclear fusion reaction unleashed by the warheads. The rest, so it appeared, had been blasted into pieces sufficiently small to burn up in the atmosphere.

Yes, many lives had been saved. But Daniel could not help but think that many would be lost all the same. The Terran nations might be able to deal with some of the dangerous pieces using their own defences, but a part of him knew that, in spite of everything, it would not be enough. Some pieces would fall and impact. Some would die, and some would see all they had known laid waste.

Could it have been prevented? Could he have done better?

"That is all we can hope for," he said. He was weary, in mind, body, and even in his soul. "I…you all did your best. I am grateful."

"You did your best too Dan-dan!" Ninin proclaimed encouragingly. "You did everything just right! You even got a kill!"

"You did?!" Damien sounded ecstatic. "Your first kill?! This calls for a celebration! I'm getting you drunk tonight!"

"I…" Daniel could not bring himself to say the words. He yearned to tell them, to confess his cowardice, his fear, to bear his soul and suffer the consequences he deserved. He _deserved _to be condemned by them, despised by them. "I…"

"It's all right, Prince." Hannon's voice was warm, and understanding. "It will pass."

"Yeah Dan-dan," Ninin added, and he felt that warm touch in his mind. "It hurts the first time, but it gets easier later. Promise!"

"What?" Damien sounded surprised. "What is it? Oh, is he taking it bad?"

"Mou!" Ninin complained. "Hanny! Damy's being insensitive again!"

"I'm not insensitive!" Damien protested. "I've had bad ones too y'know! All he needs is wine, song, and a willing woman! Or failing that some beer, tortilla chips, and a good horror movie!"

"Yucky! Dan-dan's not a slob like you!"

"If my rockets weren't almost dry I'd give you what for!"

"You can't catch me! Puru-puru-puru!"

"Don't start that again!"

"Puru-puru-puru! Puru-puru-puru!"

For all his weariness, and for all the fear and shame that hovered about his heart, Daniel could not stop himself from laughing.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"That's it Ma'am," Bart reported. "All pieces are out of range."

"Multiple surface missile launches," Meyrin added. "Atlantic Federation, Eurasia, East Asian Republic, Equatorial Union, South African Union…and South America too. Our African Community and Oceania Union bases are launching also."

"With any luck they can catch the larger pieces before they hit ground," Durandal proclaimed solemnly. "Let us hope that as few people as possible die as a result of this horror." No one present was inclined to disagree.

"What about the mobile suits?" Cagalli pleaded. "What about Athrun?"

"The _Impulse _and the ZAKUs are returning," Meyrin replied, turning in her chair with a smile on her face. "All of them!" The look of fear on Cagalli's face turned instantly into joy and relief.

Meyrin's console beeped, and the red-haired girl returned her attention to it.

"Captain!" she exclaimed. "We've made contact with the newcomer!" A shiver ran through the bridge. All eyes turned to Meyrin, and then to the Captain. Talia sighed, maintaining her composure.

"The usual, Meyrin."

"Yes Ma'am." Meyrin keyed for transmission. "Unidentified spaceship, this is the ZAFT forces warship _Minerva_. Please identify yourself and state your business." For a few moments there was silence. And then, at last, a voice.

"We are the Royal Jovian Spaceship _Jovian Dawn_, representing the sovereign Kingdom of Jupiter. Our business…is peace."

Durandal stood up, and launched himself towards Meyrin's station. He landed next to it with the practiced ease of one who had lived much of his life in space.

"If you please, Meyrin. Transmit on an open band." Meyrin nodded, keyed for open band, and handed him the microphone.

"This is Gilbert Durandal, Chairman of the Supreme Council of the People's Liberation Action Nation of Technology." His voice filled the bridge, and to those listening it seemed as if it echoed across the void. It was the voice that had won him vote after vote, and election after election. It was the voice that brought him to power, and it was been transmitted over the entire Earth Sphere.

"On behalf of my nation," he went on, "and of all the peoples of the Earth Sphere, I offer my profound and sincere thanks for your timely intervention." Another pause.

"We could not have done otherwise." The voice was female, confident and commanding. "We did not travel across the solar system to see the Earth burn before our eyes."

"To whom am I speaking?"  
"Captain Juno Moneta, of his Majesty's Royal Jovian Space Fleet. I have the honour to command this expedition, in the name of his Majesty, King Nathaniel the first, of the Royal House of Scirocco, by heaven's grace and the people's joy King of Jupiter and the Jovian moons." Durandal paused.

"I must speak to you now the words left to us by George Glenn, our father and guide." The mention of George Glenn, the first Coordinator to identify himself as such, sent a shockwave through the _Minerva_'s crew as they listened. What part did he have in all this? Why hadn't he said anything when he returned from his journey to Jupiter?

Had George Glenn lied when he said that no one lived there? Or had there been some reason? What secrets were about to be revealed?

"Do you bear the wisdom of Solomon?" he asked. "Are you Scirocco's heirs?" Another pause, longer this time.

"The wisdom of Solomon is the fount of our glory" Juno replied. "And Scirocco's heir is among us." Durandal smiled, seemingly satisfied.

"Then it is clear to me that you are indeed the people of Jupiter, the descendants of those who left our world a century and a half ago, under the leadership of the Founders.

"Brothers and sisters, welcome."

* * *

**This is officially the biggest chapter I've ever done. I can only apologise for the time it took, but I wanted to make a good job of it, and I've had some busy times recently. I want to put in a few little points at the end here.**

**In answer to Warfan's question, Juno Moneta, Feretrius Brand, and Vissari Messa are all OCs of my own intention. The names of the first two are references to their Jovian origins. In answer to MadFrog2000, the suggestion was made to me by Zaru, and I have developed it myself since then. The characters seem to have taken on a life of their own, which I suppose is a good sign. Also, I've selected a few of the manga and OVA characters to appear in this fic, some of which you will have spotted in the opening clip. Agnus and Nahe are from the Delta Astray manga, and their little segment here will have bearing later on. Agnus is how I've chosen to write his name, as opposed to Agnes (female connotations) and Ergnez. This choice is primarily stylistic. In answer to Dr eXtra20, I don't want to spoil it regarding Neo's origins. In answer to animefan29, I may as well say that the expedition by Liam Garfield's brother hasn't reached Jupiter yet. I'm not at all sure how he and his followers would react to find an entire nation already living there. **

**A few practical matters.** **I decided to let the ZAKU's have CIWS as well, as it seemed strange to leave them out when the GuAIZes and pretty much every other MS have them. I also had Lunamaria take a standard beam rifle rather than her customary beam cannon, as I thought this might be why she had such trouble hitting anything. If she had a bad experience with it fighting the **_**Girty Lue**_**, I reckoned, she might make a different choice when she **_**knows**_** she'll be facing mobile suits. **

**As for the N-Jammers, I thought it would make sense for Sato's renegades to use them. They need to complicate any effort to stop the drop as much as possible, and N-Jammers can be relied upon to cause complications. I gave up trying to figure out how they work, beyond that they use some exotic radiation. It was also a convenient way for the characters to be unable to communicate, necessitating Shinn's leap of faith with Daniel. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_It is human nature to seek hope when surrounded by despair. It is a sign of strength to cry out against what fate has decreed, rather than to accept it and endure. Many great achievements were born from commonplace human unwillingness to accept their situation._

_But there are limits to this virtue, just as there are limits to the capacity of any human being, be they Coordinator or Natural. All nations are built on myth to a greater or lesser degree, for myths allow us to process and contain the myriad details and experiences of this happenstance. But myth cannot be allowed to reign unchallenged, for such is to invite disaster._

_A dangerous myth has grown up amid our people. I cannot bring myself to blame them for it, for it is doubtless a comfort and a wellspring of strength. But this myth is no less dangerous for it. The idea that we are a new humanity, a better and nobler race, is one that must be countered wherever it is raised. _

_It is true that our bodies are stronger, and our minds are quicker. It is true that we have been able to build lives for ourselves here, and excel in all that we do despite the oppressions heaped upon us by the Earth Alliance. But we cannot forget that we are as human as they are, as flawed as they are. To regard ourselves as superior, as being above our fellow human beings, is to start down a path that has always ended in tragedy. To regard ourselves as perfect, blessed, and infallible, is to invite destruction upon ourselves._

_There is no new humanity. There is only humanity. To think otherwise is to court ruin._

_Siegel Clyne _

_**Then**_

_**Euphemus, Jupiter, February 23**__**rd **__**CE 23.**_

He had lost track of time.

He didn't know how many hours, days, maybe even weeks he had spent in that place. All was darkness and silence, save for the occasional sound of footsteps somewhere in the caverns beyond. He couldn't even figure out how far away, the sound echoing through the tunnels like the passing of a malevolent spirit.

It was enough to make a man miserable.

Even a man such as George Glenn.

He had known there would be risks. He had known, from the moment he had started planning his great expedition, that he would be exchanging a life of security and eminence for years of isolation and deadly danger. He had known, and had wanted no less.

What he had _not _expected was to find a whole bunch of people living on Jupiter's moons and asteroids, when by all rights there should be none. Nor had he expected to be taken prisoner in the name of House Zeus, whoever the hell they were, and tossed in a cell.

There he had remained, losing all track of time, though realistically it could not have been more than a few days, for they had given him neither food nor water. He had called out a few times, demanding to know what was going on, and what he had done to get himself locked up, but no one had answered. Giving up on that, he had busied himself trying to find a way out of his cell. But no amount of intelligence or ingenuity could get around solid rock walls and equally solid metal bars. Whosoever had decided to turn that small cave into a prison cell had evidently decided on a more-is-less approach.

In the end, there had been nothing to do but think.

That in itself was ironic, for it was one of the main reasons behind the expedition. A life of celebrity and success had grown tedious, devoid of the challenges he craved. He had wanted some time alone, some time to think things through. And what better than a voyage out beyond the asteroid belt? Seven years there, seven years back. He could go much faster of course, but it was plenty of time to mull things over, for the events he had set in motion to run their course.

How selfish, how petty those motives seemed now. How _arrogant _he had been, to believe that he could simply build a ship and go where he pleased. Had he thought himself a god?

A foolish, trusting god perhaps. Foolish enough to believe he could travel to Jupiter and back just because he was George Glenn. Trusting enough to follow that warship, which identified itself as the European cruiser _Ino, _to the asteroid colony named Euphemus, in which he was now imprisoned.

They had arrested him the moment he stepped off the ship. His _Tsiolkovsky, _his most wondrous creation,was in the hands of House Zeus now. Doubtless they had gone over every inch of it, unlocking its deepest secrets. Everything in the databank, all his research, all his recorded knowledge, would soon be theirs.

If it wasn't already.

For the first time in his life, George Glenn knew despair.

So deeply was he lost in his dark thoughts, that he didn't realise that someone was watching him. The first indication he had was the sound of something being placed on the floor by the bars.

He looked up, his mind racing at the first real stimulus it had received in what must have been days. In the low light he saw the object, what appeared to be a sealed bag, and a tiny hand reaching through the bars to set it down.

He shifted, opening his mouth to challenge the interloper, but only a croak came out. The hand shot back into the darkness, leaving the bag behind.

"Hey!" George managed to croak. "Who're…?" But the child was gone, vanished in a patter of little feet.

He was quite certain it was a child. Only a child could have a hand that small.

But who was it? And what had he or she left him?

George eased himself to his knees, his stiff joints protesting with every movement, and managed to manoeuvre himself to where the bag was. He picked up the bag, then paused a moment, suddenly suspicious. How did he know this wasn't some trick? Could he afford to trust _anyone _in that place?

But then again, what was the point in _not _doing so? It wasn't as if his situation could get much worse. He opened the bag.

Inside was a roll of very dark brown bread, and a ball of what might have been mincemeat, along with a sealed drinking bottle.

George's stomach hit the override switch, and he bit right into the ball. It was vat-meat, with no texture and not much flavour, but hunger cared nothing for taste. Having downed the vat-meant he started on the bread, a heavy _schwarzbrot_ that commended itself better to his digestive system than his palate, but down it went like mana from heaven. The drink was water, cool and remarkably fresh, soothing his parched throat as he gulped it down.

He laid back against the rock wall, the food settling into his shrunken stomach. He couldn't have believed that something so simple, such a poor meal, could have felt so good. A part of him was ashamed, disgusted even, that he could actually feel _gratitude_ for it.

But he did. And though the meal would probably not sustain him long, it had given him far more than mere nutrition.

"Thank you," he croaked, though he doubted anyone could hear.

And he realised, in that moment, just how miserable he had been until a moment ago.

* * *

_**Now**_

_**Minerva, October 4**__**th,**__** CE 73. **_

Shinn still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

The _Jovian Dawn_ loomed in the viewport. So vast was it, and so close were they, that he could see nothing but the heavy armour plates that covered the ship's midsection. There were gaps between the plates, giving the impression of enormous hatches. Shinn wondered what might be hiding behind them.

There wasn't a ship like it in the Earth Sphere. The closest existing approximation was ZAFT's new carrier _Gondwana_, and that was shorter by about one quarter if his estimate was correct.

Though the name kept wandering into his mind, there was little of the _Tsiolkovsky _about it. George Glenn's legendary ship had been of about the same size, but not so massive. It had been more akin to the old pre-Reconstruction Wars ships, its exposed modules held together by long girders, all substance and no style.

And it certainly hadn't been armed.

Shinn could no longer see them, but throughout the approach his eyes had been drawn to the four massive gun turrets, set two dorsal and two ventral. He hadn't known it was possible to make beam cannons, if that was what they were, of that size. Both OMNI and ZAFT had switched to researching positron weapons, like the _Minerva_'s Tannhauser, rather than scale them to anything like that big. Evidently the Jovians had decided otherwise.

The questions ran through Shinn's mind, the same questions he had heard in the hangar, in the corridors, and even in the shower. _Who _were these newcomers who called themselves Jovians? Were they really human? What did they want?

Why had George Glenn lied?

Unlike some, Coordinators and Naturals alike, Shinn had never bought into the cult of George Glenn. He could acknowledge the man's greatness, which was hard to deny in the face of his myriad achievements, but he could not bring himself to think of Glenn as anything more than a great man. All the same, he knew how this was going to go down.

George Glenn had indeed been a great man in his time. An athlete, a pilot, a scientist, an engineer, an astronaut, not merely a jack of all trades, but a master too. All of it had derived from the genetic engineering to which he had been subjected just after his conception, part of a secret but widely-rumoured practice of gene-crafting. He was the first gene-crafted person to identify himself as such, popularizing the term _Coordinator_, even as his _Tsiolkovsky_ broke orbit on its way to Jupiter, a journey that would be his greatest achievement. He had returned home almost fifteen years later, bringing with him Evidence 01, the fossil of a whale-like creature he claimed to have found among the Jovian asteroids. It became the symbol of the age, the first real evidence of life on other planets.

And it was all a lie.

It was a lie, because he hadn't mentioned anything about a high-tech civilization living out there. If he had seen fit to omit something _that _important, what else might he have kept secret? Could Evidence 01 itself be regarded as real in the face of such a revelation?

Shinn had little time for such worries. Any number of experts had examined Evidence 01, and had found no evidence of foul play. Just because he hadn't mentioned the Jovians didn't make it fake. Perhaps they had given it to him. Perhaps there were more of them out there. And besides, wasn't all that stuff Durandal had said about 'the wisdom of Solomon' and 'Scirocco's heir' part of some message Glenn left behind? Had there not therefore been a reason?

But all the same, Shinn knew what would be running through so many minds, and so many hearts.

_George Glenn lied._

He wasn't hurt or upset by it. Rather he felt something he had not often felt since the loss of his family, and the end of his innocent youth in the Orb Union.

Shinn felt _excited_. He felt _curious_, genuinely so, for the first time in so many years. He wanted to see inside that ship, to meet its crew, to find out about the Jovians, to hear their story.

But despite the euphoria, he could not help but think of them, of _her._

"_Mayu would've been so excited._"

Up it came, from the dark depths of his much-wounded soul. Sorrow flooded up, drowning his brief flame of happiness, washing it away as if it had never been. And with the sorrow came the memories, the visions.

Shinn began to shudder. He clutched at his arms, trying to warm himself against the cold wind that chilled him from within. He couldn't remember the last time it had been that bad.

"Shinn!" The familiar voice caught his attention, and the shuddering stilled as Rey za Burrell floated over from the hatch. His face flushed as he composed himself. He didn't want anyone seeing him like that, not even his few friends.

"Are you all right?" Rey asked.

"I'm fine!" Shinn insisted, a little too forcefully. "It's nothing, really." Rey gave him a dubious look, but didn't force the issue.

"Well then, get ready. Gil…I mean Chairman Durandal and the others are coming."

"Right." Shinn straightened his tunic, coloured a rich crimson. The new dress uniform was actually little different from his service uniform, aside from the more expensive material and the gold edges added to the black facings. All the same it was a reminder of how much had changed since the Bloody Valentine War.

The hatch slid open again, and Lunamaria Hawke emerged. Shinn noted with some relief that she was wearing the same dress uniform as himself and Rey. He had no idea how that pink skirt would have gone down with the Jovians, or Durandal's staff officers for that matter, and he didn't want to find out.

Lunamaria manoeuvred to one side with practiced ease, and Captain Talia Gladys emerged followed by Vice-Captain Arthur Trine. They also wore dress uniform, though coloured white and black respectively, and with flat caps to symbolize their status. Shinn saluted, his friends doing likewise. After the two officers came Gilbert Durandal, his presence eliciting a sparkle in Rey's eyes, followed by…

Shinn managed to contain his rancour as Cagalli Yula Athha entered with her…_companion._ Of course she would be coming. No Athha would miss a chance like that.

"At ease," Talia ordered. "I think that makes our whole party, Mister Chairman."

"I believe it does, Captain Gladys." The Chairman matched gazes with Rey for a moment. Shinn did not know precisely what had passed between the two, but there was definitely some sort of connection. "Has the docking arm been secured?"

"Yes, Mister Chairman," the Vice-Captain replied, barely keeping his evident nervousness from his voice. "If you will come this way." Trine gestured for them to follow, and the small party continued along the corridor to the next hatch, which Shinn recognized as one of the outer airlock chambers. The hatch slid open, and as they entered Shinn finally saw his first Jovian.

It was a young man, maybe a few years his senior with skin of a middling shade. He wore a black jacket, fastening under his right shoulder, with navy blue pants and tall black boots polished to a mirror sheen. His collar, belt, cuffs, and gloves were a gleaming white, and he wore a beret in the same colour. He snapped off a crisp salute as they entered the chamber, the two green-uniformed ZAFT crewmen doing likewise. The salute was like that of ZAFT, but with the elbow held noticeably higher.

"Ensign Brigham, of his Majesty's Corps of Space Marines, assigned to his Majesty's ship the _Jovian Dawn_," the Jovian barked. "At your service!"

"Captain Talia Gladys, of this the ZAFT forces warship _Minerva_," Talia replied with appropriate gravity, returning his salute. "The Chairman is ready to board at your Captain's pleasure."

"Yes ma'am. Follow if you please ma'am." The ensign turned on his heel and launched himself towards the open hatch, with the easy grace of one who had lived in space his whole life. The ZAFT party followed him out into the _Jovian Dawn_'s docking arm, which was considerably wider and taller than he had expected. Within moments they had crossed the threshold, and to Shinn's surprise he felt the press of gravity upon him.

"We'll seal the hatch behind," said the ensign. "For safety sir." Durandal nodded in acknowledgement, and the ensign strode over to the control panel by the hatch. The door began to slide shut, and Shinn could not shake a feeling of unease. He knew there was no reason to suspect any treachery, but if there were, there could be no escape. He willed his heart to still as the door clunked shut, and the door in front of them began to slide open.

A piercing noise assailed Shinn's genetically-enhanced hearing as the doors opened. It was an electronic whistling, starting in one tone, then rising higher, then dropping down again. It was a sound he recognized, but had only ever heard in movies.

The sound was followed by a barked command, and the sound of hundreds of booted feet snapping to attention all at once. It was all Shinn could do to do likewise as he took in the sight before him.

It was a wide, tall chamber, big enough to handle cargo. Soldiers clad in the same black and blue uniforms as the Ensign stood in ranks running the length of the chamber. They stood at statue-rigid attention, short bullpup rifles held at present arms. Behind them, arrayed in the same fashion, two lines of four mobile suits did likewise. They were dark blue, of the same type as the one Daniel had been piloting a few hours earlier. An enormous purple banner hung from the wall opposite the door, emblazoned with a golden, spread-winged eagle. Set into its chest was a shield, bearing what looked like a stylized letter Z with a vertical line running through the bottom horizontal. Other banners hung from the observation decks, displaying symbols Shinn didn't recognize.

It was a sight meant to impress. It was working.

Durandal led the way, striding across the threshold with apparent self-assurance. Standing opposite, in front of another closed door, was a party of Jovians, officers if their uniforms were anything to go by. Some of the uniforms were those of the marines, but the others were a lighter shade of blue with matching berets. As Durandal approached three of them advanced to meet him, and the two parties halted around the middle of the chamber, with Durandal standing opposite a dark-skinned woman in blue. Shinn could see the gold epaulettes at her shoulders, and gold eagle studs on her black collar. To her right was a tall, rather pompous-looking man with grey hair, dressed in what might have been civilian garb. To her left was a youth, of about Shinn's own age, wearing a uniform similar to hers, but his collar and cuffs were red. A gold lanyard hung under his right shoulder.

"Permission to come aboard?" Durandal asked, in keeping with the old custom.

"Welcome aboard, Chairman Durandal." Her voice was rich and deep, with an accent Shinn had never heard before that day. "I am Captain Juno Moneta." They shook hands. "I present our ambassador plenipotentiary, Feretrius Brand." She gestured to the man at her left, dressed in what might have been civilian garb. The ambassador bowed his head as he and Durandal shook hands.

"Also, our goodwill ambassador." As she spoke, the bronze-skinned youth stepped forward. "His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Daniel."

"Your Royal Highness." Durandal inclined his head in apparent respect as he took the youth's hand. "We are honoured to be in your presence."

"The honour is mine, Chairman."

Shinn barely stopped himself from calling out in shock, for it was the same voice that he had heard from that mobile suit during the battle. Was he the same Daniel? So surprised was he, that he barely noticed the round of introductions and pleasantries that were apparently par the course at such an event. He did not pay attention until they started talking about a tour of the ship.

"We would be honoured if you would, Captain." Durandal was carrying himself like a professional. "I could never pass up the opportunity to see the wonders of this vessel."

"Count me in too," Cagalli added. Her manner was noticeably more standoffish, more suspicious. Shinn felt a perverse pride in it, enjoying that she was discomfited while _his _head of state was at ease.

"If you will follow?" Shinn fell into step as the two parties headed for the rear door, the line of officers moving neatly out of their way.

* * *

_**Somewhere in the Atlantic Federation**_

"What are you going to do about this Djibril?" Ivan Karpenko bellowed, his eyes bulging in outrage and terror.

"This is a disaster, Djibril!" Gal van Saar half-shrieked.

Djibril, for his own part, did his best to keep his marble features steady. As infuriating as their whining and panicking was, it would serve no purpose to visibly lose his temper.

He gazed up at the screens lining the walls of his personal command chamber, many of them dominated by the faces of his panic-stricken Logos backers. Others showed reams of data coming in from his various departments and agents, while yet more showed news feeds from across the world.

"Gentlemen," he began his reply, trying not to grip the armrests too hard. "While this has all been very dramatic, there is really nothing to worry about."

"You call it nothing!" barked Karpenko. "You saw what they did! They destroyed that asteroid in one volley! Do you have _any _idea of the firepower that implies?

"And now they're sitting up there," Sosetsu Yukihiro interjected darkly, "while Durandal gets his foot behind the door."

"That man doesn't waste any time," Karpenko grumbled. "Not only is ZAFT providing aid to the affected areas, but he's gotten to the Jovians first."

"That," interjected Bruno Azrael, his voice setting Djibril's teeth on edge, "is easily the worst of it. There's no telling what lies he's pouring into their ears."

Though he hated to admit it, Djibril knew that Azrael had a point. Thanks to the timely intervention of the _Jovian Dawn, _as the ship had identified itself in a pre-recorded transmission, relatively little of Junius Seven Beta's bulk had actually hit ground. Of those pieces large enough to make it through the atmosphere, a considerable portion had been successfully shot down by the aerospace defences of the Earth-sphere powers. Those that made it past all that had come down primarily over the equator, a happenstance due partly to gravity and partly to geo-political and geo-economic realities. The African Community, weak and divided as it was, had been worst-hit of all, though the somewhat better-off Equatorial Union and the ZAFT-aligned Oceania Union had also taken hits. The USSA had gotten off comparatively lightly, ironically enough due to the defences stationed at the Atlantic Federation's Panama base. The damage in those areas was considerable, and the death toll was estimated to be high, in the hundreds of thousands, maybe even low millions. But compared to what might have happened, such losses were merciful.

The _real_ problem was that ZAFT had managed to get a face-to-face meeting with the Jovians before anyone else. As big a fool as Azrael was, Durandal would waste no time in telling the Jovians _his _side of the story, planting the seeds of prejudice. The result, human nature being what it was, would be that no Jovian would be able to look at an Earth Alliance official without wondering if he was looking into the eyes of a murder.

Besides, the Jovians had more in common with the Coordinators than they did with anyone living on Earth. That alone would militate in favour of an alliance, without Durandal's honeyed lies.

"Have no doubt!" Azrael went on. "Right now, Durandal is turning the Jovians against us. I wouldn't be surprised if they're signing a treaty of alliance right now!" There were grumbles of agreement. Djibril was having to force himself not to grit his teeth.

"Gentlemen, Mr Azrael makes a fair point," he said, his tone sweet reason. "But there are certain facts we must bear in mind." He paused, allowing himself to relax, and his mind to order itself.

"To the best of our knowledge, the Jovians have existed in isolation for over a century and a half," he said. "Such a history is bound to breed a certain insularity in them, if not xenophobia. They are _hardly _likely to enter into any entangling arrangements at this stage."

"Are you saying we should wait?" Yukihiro asked darkly.

"Yes, I am." Djibril gave them a languid smile. "There's a real feel-good atmosphere out there right now. Conditions are ideal to engineer a reconciliation of the superpowers."

"Reconciliation?" Azrael snapped. "That ship is a clear and present threat! If you want reconciliation Djibril, then we need to make that fact abundantly clear! A threat of this magnitude will help reunite the Earth Alliance!"

"No, Mr Azrael." Djibril made his tone as languid and lazy as possible, all the better to infuriate him. "That sort of rhetoric at this stage will make us look fools. Besides, if these newcomers are such a threat, do we _really _want to be picking a fight with them?" He scanned his eyes around the screens. He could tell that the Logos members were coming round to his point of view, so there was no need to voice aloud the _other _factor they were doubtless considering, namely the potential trade opportunities. Azrael, by contrast, was visibly seething.

"There are two factors you may or may not be aware of," Djibril went on. He stood up, and refilled his wine glass. "One is that Athha of Orb is up there too. Durandal isn't the only one trying to get a foot behind the door."

"The lion's daughter," Mordrin Lockhart mused. "I think I see your meaning."

"How does that help us?" van Saar asked sourly. "After what happened to her country, Athha has no reason to say anything nice about the Alliance."

"Perhaps not," Djibril conceded mildly. "But she is also scrupulously just, and ironically enough she is as determined as we are to prevent a war between the superpowers. Even better, she has no reason to trust the PLANTs. She'll try to draw the Jovians into her own efforts, and they have more reason to trust her, the leader of an avowedly neutral state, than someone like Durandal." He paused, letting it all sink in.

"As for the other factor, you should be receiving something round about now." Djibril smiled inwardly at the thought of what they were about to see. Phantom Pain had not let him down.

"Junius Seven," Yukihiro muttered, in evident surprise.

"Those are…"

"ZAFT GINNs!"

"Gentlemen," Djibril proclaimed. "I present you the means by which we shall unite the people of Earth against the PLANTs. What you see is only a taste of what I shall release…when the time is right."

"We must release them _now_!" Azrael snarled. "We must unite the people _now_!"

"I shall release the pictures," Djibril went on, "as soon as Orb has succeeded in luring the Jovians away from the PLANTs, diplomatically _and_ physically. At that point, we shall deal with the PLANTs from a position of strength." He raised his glass, thin lips curling upward in a rare smile.

"_Yes, we'll deal with them, once and for all!_" he thought, exultant. "_For the preservation of our blue and pure world!_"

* * *

_**Jovian Dawn**_

From the vantage point of the observation gallery, Reactor No.4 was a wide, squat cylinder, suspended seemingly in mid-air from heavy girders along which snaked heavy pipes and cables. To one who had lived only or primarily on Earth it would have been a jarring sight, even if the peculiarities of zero-g construction were borne in mind. To one who knew what was going on inside that cylinder, the configuration made perfect sense. At the touch of a button, explosive charges would detonate in synchronization with the opening of a hatch below and the activation of a fast-burning rocket set into the top of the cylinder, sending the reactor down and out of the ship. It was a safety measure of last resort, and an indispensable one.

"This is our number four reactor," Juno introduced the cylinder, gesturing at it through the viewport set into the gallery's inner wall. The viewport's transparency belied the material science that had gone into its development and construction. "One of six."

"I must confess," Durandal spoke up. "I've never seen a configuration quite like this."

"Neither have I," added Talia Gladys. "Respectfully Captain, it seems like you've gone to a lot of trouble to keep it isolated from the rest of the ship."

"The fruit of bitter experience," Juno replied. "A plasma flash can take out whole decks."

"Plasma?" Cagalli exclaimed, rounding on Juno in surprise. "That's a _fusion _reactor?"

"It certainly is," Juno said with evident pride. "Based on a technology developed by the Zeus Concern in his Majesty's youth. It helped us to win the final war." Juno tried and failed to keep the sorrow from her countenance. She had fought in that war, back in the day.

When the two of them had…

"I am astounded, Captain," Durandal breathed, actually sounding like he meant it. "Dare I assume that it uses Helium-3 as a fuel source?"

"You assume correctly Chairman." Juno gave him a smile. "You are quite knowledgeable in these matters…for a politician."

"I consider myself what in centuries past would have been called a renaissance man," Durandal replied, smiling away the jibe. "Though the abundance of Helium-3 around Jupiter is common knowledge. I imagine that would have simplified the development process."

"Captain," Cagalli interjected, her face set and eyes suspicious. "Do your mobile suits use the same technology?" There was an awkward pause.

"If I may, Captain Moneta," Athrun interjected. "I noticed that your mobile suits used beam weapons throughout the battle, and yet never once did they physically reload. I can think of only one explanation for that." He met Juno's gaze, staring into her dark eyes.

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you," she said, casually. "Yes, our battlepods use miniature fusion reactors as their power sources."

"Then…" Cagalli bit her lip. "Your system must be immune to the N-Jammer."

"You refer to the radiation being projected from the asteroid?" Prince Daniel spoke up.

"Yes, that's it," Cagalli confirmed. "It didn't affect your systems?" Daniel glanced at the Captain, who nodded.

"The effective range of our communications and scanners were substantially limited," Daniel went on. "But none of our other systems were affected."

"That confirms it," Durandal mused. "_Quid pro quo_ Captain Moneta. The N-Jammer works by impeding the movement of free neutrons, not whole nuclei. It can render nuclear fission reactors and weapons useless, but it would appear that your fusion power technology will be unaffected.

"_Of course,_" he thought. "_It'll be immune to _that _too._"

Lunamaria Hawke was a few metres away, gazing at the reactor from the next viewport. She had looked up with a start as she overheard the part about the miniature reactors, then returned her attention to the viewport as she processed it.

"_That means…basically every single one of their mobile suits is nuclear-powered._"

Before she could put much thought to the matter, her delicate hearing sensed someone approaching. It was with mild surprise that she looked up to see a young man standing next to her. He wore the same uniform as the prince, complete with gold lanyard, and was taller than her by around a head. The face smiling down at her had high cheekbones, narrow blue eyes, and was crowned with a mane of white-blond hair reaching to his belt.

It was perhaps fortuitous that Lunamaria was not given to covering her cheeks and squealing when faced with men she found aesthetically pleasing. Poor Meyrin would have frozen up in panic.

"I hope you are enjoying the tour," the angel said, with all apparent sincerity. "Considering the import of this occasion."

"I think I can say I am." Lunamaria gave him a smile and a rakish salute. "Pilot Lunamaria Hawke, at your service."

"Lieutenant Hannon Gable, at yours." The angel returned the salute, even clicking his heels. Lunamaria was mildly surprised by the latter gesture. She had never seen such archaic military ritual except in movies or the better-researched costume dramas. It certainly wasn't something ZAFT had ever bothered with.

"I seem to recognize your voice," Hannon went on. "Did you take part in the battle?"

"I did," Lunamaria replied. "Mine was the red mobile suit."

"Mobile suit?" Hannon asked, momentarily bewildered. "Is that what you call them?"

"Uh, yes." Lunamaria was mildly surprised. "What do you guys call them?"

"We call them battlepods," Hannon said with a smile. "And I seem to recall a red one that fought quite gallantly." Something in his manner sent a shiver of irritation through her.

"You call it gallant," she said, her face falling. "To have my life spared."

"I call it gallant," Hannon replied, "that you stood firm." The compliment, coming with such apparent sincerity, caught Lunamaria off-guard.

"Your collar and cuffs," she said, changing the subject. "What do they mean?"

"These?" Hannon chuckled. "The red is for his Majesty's First Regiment of Guards. I go into battle with his highness."

"You don't say." Lunamaria considered it for a moment, thinking back over the battle, and the data she had seen afterwards. "Then, you were that mobile armour, the fast one."

"Mine was the _Mercury_, yes," Hannon confirmed, still smiling. "I like to go in fast."

"I'm more of a shooter myself," Lunamaria replied, starting to enjoy the exchange. "I scored 98 on my final."

"I learned from Colonel Kousa, commander of our regiment, from my tenth year."

"Ten?" The reply took Lunamaria by surprise. "That young?"

"I was a cadet," Hannon explained, with evident pride. "I started my formal military training at fifteen."

"Same here." Lunamaria paused. "Well, _sixteen _actually, but near enough."

"It seems we are not all that different," Hannon said, evidently pleased.

"So it does," Lunamaria replied, and she found she felt the same way.

* * *

_**Moscow, Capital of the Eurasian Federation**_

There were twelve of them.

Twelve men and women, not including their aides, who made up the Eurasian Federation's military cabinet. Composed of elected politicians, appointed ministers, and military officers, it was one of many such cabinets that existed to discuss and handle particular matters efficiently, sparing the need to hammer out every little matter on the floor of the Federal Assembly. When put before the hundreds of elected delegates, representatives of myriad nations, cultures, creeds, and interests, even the smallest matter could drag on for days.

Such could not be allowed in matters of import.

And there were few matters more important than impending war.

Leonid Sergetov, Chairman of the Federal Council, knew this better than most. He could not have managed eight years in his position by being ignorant of such things. He could not have achieved his exalted position, after decades of climbing the slippery pole of political office, had he not learned to keep his ear to the floor as much as possible.

And he would not remain much longer if he could not handle this crisis.

"You know why we are all here," he said, keeping his voice level yet severe enough to fit the gravity of the situation. "The fall of Junius Seven Beta, the intervention of a Jovian spaceship, and the ongoing crisis with the Atlantic Federation." He turned his eyes towards Erik Bjarnesen, Minister of Defence. "Minister, your report please."

"Yes Chairman." Bjarnesen shuffled his notes. "At approximately 14:45 hours yesterday afternoon, the asteroid Junius Seven Beta shifted into a decaying orbit. Four spaceships are known to have approached the object over a six hour period, of which two are known and one has since been identified. The two known vessels were the _Nazca _class warships _Voltaire _and _Rousseau _under the command of Group-Commander Yzak Joule. The third vessel has been identified as ZAFT's new _Minerva_, under the command of Captain Talia Gladys, with Chairman Gilbert Durandal and Chief Representative Cagalli Yula Athha of the Orb Union also on board. The fourth vessel has no known designation. Based on available information, we know that the _Voltaire _and _Rousseau_arrived first, and that upon arrival they launched mobile suits carrying industrial nuclear devices for the purpose of breaking up the asteroid. They were then attacked by an unknown number of mobile suits as they approached, and an N-Jammer field was detected emanating from the asteroid at that point. The _Minerva _deployed its own mobile suits to assist, joined by mobile suit analogues from the newcomer, which has identified itself as the _Jovian Dawn_. Their combined efforts were sufficient to extricate the original task force, which succeeded in detonating one of its nuclear devices inside the asteroid, causing it to split in two, whereupon it was struck by eight missiles launched from the _Jovian Dawn _and successfully fragmented. The unidentified fourth vessel launched five mobile suits through the course of the fighting, three of which have been positively identified as the three prototypes stolen from the Armoury One PLANT. This confirms that the vessel in question was the same vessel responsible for the Armoury One raid. Its current whereabouts and condition are unknown."

"Is there any indication of who was responsible for moving the asteroid?" asked Ala Al-Hijazi, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.

"The insurgent force consisted of multiple mobile suits," Bjarnesen went on, "consisted in appearance with late-model ZAFT GINNs." The atmosphere in the room went very cold.

"Before you say anything," Sergetov interjected. "I have since received a personal communication from Chairman Durandal. In it he claimed that the insurgents were Zalaite renegades under the command of Kenta Sato, and that all of them were killed during the incident."

"Of course he would say that," groused Klaus Frankel, the Minister of the Interior. "But it doesn't change anything. The moment it gets out that ZAFT troops were behind it, renegade or no, the At-Fed will jump right on it. It's the perfect propaganda to win over the public and force us back into the alliance."

"Would people believe them in the current environment?" asked Elaine Dumouriez, the Minister of Finance. "After JOSH-A broke, I doubt anyone in Eurasia would believe a word they said."

"You forget," Frankel retorted darkly. "They have their fair share of sympathizers, especially among the malcontent elements. We banned Blue Cosmos, and the riots gave us the perfect excuse to lock up their domestic leadership, but the underlying problem isn't going away and probably never will."

"A discontented minority!" Dumouriez protested. "Nothing like enough to force the system, surely!"

"But enough to cause trouble," grumbled Frederik Kowalski, the Minister of Justice. "The ban got them stirred up like you wouldn't believe. I haven't seen anything like it since the wars, and if the genetic emancipation bill goes through it'll get worse by a factor of ten."

Sergetov knew he was right. He had seen enough of Blue Cosmos to know how they were reacting. Declaring them a terrorist organization was bad enough, but outlawing any and all discrimination on the basis of genetic background would be the ultimate betrayal. And while Blue Cosmos might have been driven from public life in the Eurasian Federation, he knew as well as anyone that they hadn't gone away.

The world had changed. The economic shifts that accompanied the new millennium had made it increasingly difficult for small nation-states to function with any kind of meaningful independence. Weapons became too expensive, corporations too large and too powerful to control, the problems of dwindling resources and a deteriorating biosphere too big for any one state to handle. The various supra-national economic unions that currently dominated the Earth had been born from those harsh necessities.

In terms of territory, the Eurasian Federation was the single largest of the superpower unions, and easily one of the most complicated. Operating on the principle of subsidiarity, it was a patchwork quilt of republics, federal republics, people's republics, democratic republics, democratic people's republics, monarchies constitutional and absolute, potencies and principalities, corporate sectors, and miscellaneous territorial units of one sort or another. Economic and strategic necessity had brought them together, and it was primarily those things that kept it together.

Age and experience had tempered Sergetov's ideological enthusiasm. He had learned that for all its necessity and occasional virtue, Eurasia could not easily attract the sort of loyalty the old nation-states had regarded as their due. Most Eurasian citizens identified primarily with whatever nationality or cultural group they had been born into or chose to adopt, regarding Eurasia as part of a compound identity and treating Federal institutions as they might public utilities. For most this was enough, and they were content to get on with their lives.

But not everyone who lived within the Eurasian Federation's borders felt that way. There were those who found Eurasia too big, too monolithic, too _impersonal_. Others felt adrift in a world where people could call themselves whatever they wanted. For those unhappy few it wasn't enough simply to have an identity, be it national or religious or ideological. They had to draw boundaries around their identities, to declare a chunk of territory their exclusive property, and to eject outsiders from it by force. There was something in human nature that drove them to do it, something that neither education nor reason could overcome. With nationalism and traditional religious extremism defeated and discredited, they had sought satisfaction in other causes.

Including Blue Cosmos.

"Now isn't the time for something like that," he said, his voice catching their attention and ending the argument before it could become unmanageable. "The problem isn't even the Jovians, as significant as their arrival might be. It's how the Atlantic Federation is going to take all this."

"There's no way to tell," Al-Hijazi replied sourly. "No doubt they were as shocked by this revelation as anyone else, including ourselves." He glanced around the table.

"You know how they'll take it!" Kowalski growled. Sergetov saw the flash of hatred in his eyes, the hatred he bore Blue Cosmos. "They'll declare the Jovians subhuman and demand their immediate extermination!"

"On what basis?" Dumouriez snorted. "We don't even know…"

"Enough!" Sergetov slapped the table top. "It's irrelevant for now!" He paused, letting the tension ease.

"Minister Bjarnesen," he said. "We must consider the possibility that our current enmity with the Atlantic Federation will come to war. Can you advise this council of our capabilities?"

"Yes Chairman." Bjarnesen took another dossier from one of his aides, a white-uniformed officer of the Eurasian combined forces, and opened it.

"Aside from our internal security forces, we currently possess three and a half million active personnel in all branches. Our ground forces consist of two hundred mechanized divisions and fifty independent airborne brigades, all of which are now equipped with mobile suits at a strength of one battalion each, that is to say thirty-six mobile suits, and each of the mechanized divisions now includes a single _Hannibal _class land battleship as its HQ. There are also ten independent missile brigades, twenty aerospace defence brigades, and fifty independent mobile suit battalions. Our naval forces consist of ten aircraft carriers, sixty-two amphibious assault ships, two-hundred and ten escorts, and ninety-four submarines. Our air forces consist of over four thousand combat aircraft, including eighty squadrons of _Spearhead _fighters, thirty of _Skygrasper_ attack aircraft, and sixty of gunships. Our Strategic Defence forces consist of four hundred ICBMs with strategic nuclear payloads and forty-two SOBMs with optional nuclear payloads, thirty-eight having been fired against Junius Seven fragments, and one hundred assorted tactical nuclear weapons. With forces of this magnitude we are an approximately even match for the Atlantic Federation, and can overwhelm any of the other unions."

"That's all very impressive," Dumouriez replied with a hint of sarcasm. "But you didn't mention our space forces. Zero-g high-precision manufacturing currently accounts for thirty per cent of our total manufacturing output, and all of it is done from our Lagrange 3 colonies. With what will we protect them?"

"Our space forces are our biggest problem for the moment," Bjarnesen admitted, flipping through his dossier. "Due to a combination of previous treaty agreements and the Atlantic Federation's perfidy during the last war, our space forces are currently very limited. Our active forces consist of twelve _Drake _class escorts based out of Artemis station, which also possesses a garrison of ten mobile suit squadrons, and our colonies all possess individual militia contingents."

"Ah yes, Artemis," Frankel sneered. "Our singular embarrassment. Is that idiot Garcia still in command?"

"We have made some improvements to Artemis' defences," Bjarnesen went on. "Aside from the defensive weapons, we have also upgraded the Lightwave barrier to allow individual segments to be activated and deactivated in sync with the defensive weapons, thus allowing them to fire out. I assure you, Ministers, that ZAFT's little trick with the _Blitz _cannot be replicated."

"All the same, we will require spaceships," Sergetov interjected. "What is the status of the Laurium programme?" Bjarnesen took another dossier from his aide.

"The first batch of our new warships is complete as of last month, and the second batch is expected to be ready within the next four months. The first batch consists of four _Andromeda _class battleships, six _Aurora_ class cruisers, twelve _Armorica _class cruisers, and thirty _Skoryi _class destroyers, all ready for space trials."

"For trials you say?" Frankel asked suspiciously. "You haven't launched them yet?"

"We could not, Minister, for security reasons," Bjarnesen explained, feeling the tension rising. "Policy has thus far been to maintain absolute secrecy."

"Of course it is," Kowalski sneered. "Show off those ships and people will ask where the money came from." He turned his gaze on Dumouriez. "Just as they're asking how we paid for our new Kuwait mass driver, _and_ the mag-lev network, _and_ the Neo-Energia Initiative."

"You weren't complaining when your Ministry's budget got increased," Dumouriez retorted waspishly. "The dividend paid for it."

"Minister Kowalski has a point," Frankel warned. "The At-Fed is already accusing us of embezzling EA funds to pay for those projects. If the truth were to get out…"

"It _has _gotten out," Kowalski snarled. "Or had you forgotten?"

"Enough!" Sergetov barked, the harshness of his tone belying his disquiet.

Like all of them he knew the identity of the one who had, shortly before his unexpected demise at the climax of the Bloody Valentine War, made a series of very large investments in several of Eurasia's major infrastructure projects. He also knew what would happen if that person's identity were to be made public. If anything, it would be even worse than if the Laurium project itself were to be leaked.

"There's no point in complaining about it," he said. "What is, is. What matters is how we deal with the situation right in front of us."

"I recommend we do nothing," Al-Hijazi spoke up. "In their current state of mind, any shift in our posture could provoke the At-Fed to violence. We need to deescalate the conflict before it spirals out of control."

"That could be difficult," Frankel interjected. "With public opinion as it is, we would need major concessions from the Atlantic Federation, or at least an apology for JOSH-A, before we can make any progress."

"They'll never apologise for JOSH-A," Kowalski snarled. "And they won't back down."

"That's why I said do nothing," Al-Hijazi explained. "We can use the public excitement surrounding the Jovians as a cooling-off period."

"And the British?" Kowalski demanded, his dark mood unchanged. "What if they try to secede? And the Atlantic Federation uses force to stop them?"

"From a strategic perspective," Bjarneson interjected, "we cannot ignore something like that."

"In which case," Al-Hijazi spoke up again, "we should allow Athha of Orb to follow her own path. She may be able to resolve this without any need for us to get involved."

"Don't be absurd!" Frankel spluttered. "The only way she could possibly deter the At-Fed is with Orb's fleet, and that would go against everything they claim to believe!"

"That's true." Al-Hijazi appeared quite unruffled. "But a war between the superpowers isn't in Orb's interest either. We've all heard her rhetoric about the damage that would be done in the event of a full-scale clash. She might just be desperate enough to do it."

"_Yes_" Sergetov thought. "_She might at that._"

* * *

_**Jovian Dawn**_

"This is my favourite part of the ship," Daniel said, coming to a halt beside the gallery viewport. Running the length of the curving wall, it offered a particularly good view of the Earth. Daniel paused a few moments, letting the guests enjoy the sight.

"A most edifying vision," Durandal commented fulsomely. "Enough to remind us of the import of this day."

"Starlight shone on the hour of our meeting, Chairman Durandal," Daniel replied, with just a touch more feeling than was appropriate. "Never have I felt greater hope than this day."

"A sentiment I share in all sincerity, your highness." Durandal gave as good as he got. "And I'm sure the Chief Representative feels the same way."

"Forgive me, Prince." There was a harshness in the blonde woman's tone, born of what seemed to Daniel like a mixture of suspicion and a deep foreboding. "This should be a joyous occasion, but I may speak frankly you've come at a bad time." Daniel was taken aback, and he saw the flash of irritation in her companion's eyes.

"I would be grateful if you would explain fully," he said, as graciously as he could manage. "We will soon seek to open diplomatic negotiations with the Terran governments, so anything you could tell us would help a great deal."

"Perhaps it would be more agreeable to start at the beginning," Durandal interjected, his fulsome manner not entirely concealing the force of his tone. "For instance, many in the Earth Sphere will be wondering as to your people's origins. I must confess that I am overcome with curiosity."

"It's a long story," ambassador Brand interjected. "But his highness tells it well." Daniel glanced at him in surprise, then cleared his throat.

"Our ancestors arrived in Jovian space one-hundred and forty-five years ago, by our reckoning the year After Landing zero one. If the records they left us are correct, then this date corresponded to some time between the years 2036 and 2038 of the old Gregorian calendar."

"That sounds about right," Durandal spoke up as he paused. "The current date is Cosmic Era 73, which in the old calendar should be the year 2173."

"We know very little of the Earth Sphere, beyond the historical records and other materials our ancestors brought with them," Daniel went on. "They told us of a world in crisis, of resources running short, of conflicts between races, nations, and creeds growing ever more violent. Our ancestors, whose leaders called themselves the Founders, believed that human civilization was on the verge of destruction." He paused, and saw the looks the guests were giving him.

"Your ancestors…were not entirely wrong," Durandal said sorrowfully. "They left the Earth in a time of great upheaval, shortly before a period we now call the Reconstruction Wars. This was no one conflict, but rather a series of wars between the nations and alliances of the time, and even within nations. Many of those wars were cruel beyond compare, and all were destructive. The majority of contemporary records were stored in digital form, and a significant proportion were lost as a result of cyber-warfare and the use of EMP weaponry in some cases. As a result our knowledge of that time is patchy at best, so much so that an expedition such as that of the Founders might indeed have been organised and launched, with little more than hearsay to remind us of it."

"Know you of the Founders?" Daniel asked.

"My father told me some things," Cagalli replied, beating Durandal to the punch. "He told me that the Founders were wealthy and powerful men, who believed that there was no hope for the Earth. He told me that they used their wealth to bring together clever and capable people who felt the same way, and together they built their ships, and travelled beyond the asteroid belt never to be heard from again." She paused. "I thought it was just a fairy tale. And even when I thought it might have happened, I never thought that any of them could have survived." Daniel failed to suppress a sigh.

"The Founders led our ancestors for a time," he said. "But they became selfish and cruel, believing that all they owned was theirs and theirs alone, even human life. So it was on Europa, under the rule of the Houses. Though the Founders of Callisto and Ganymede were far less cruel, they were even worse on Io, where conditions were harshest." He paused, as the weight of history bore down upon him.

"The Ionians overthrew their oppressors first, replacing their rule with a new ideology, the belief that their suffering was a divine test, and that heaven had granted them all creation as theirs to conquer. Under the leadership of House Zeus, my father's family, the rule of the Founders was overthrown on Europa also. At the request of the people's representatives my father was made King of Europa, taking the name of our ancestor, Scirocco."

"By heaven's grace and the people's joy," Durandal mused, smiling slightly. "But how was it that your father came to rule the whole of Jovian space?" Daniel cleared his throat.

"The Callistan Senate objected to the revolution, and to my father's accession. They demanded that he restore the Houses to their power and property, threatening war if he refused."

"With the support of the new parliament my father refused, and the Callistans attacked us. The Ionians used the distraction to attack Callisto, devastating the surface and orbiting colonies with an asteroid bombardment. They called this Operation Bitter Rain, and so it was." He paused again, some hidden impulse forcing him to be silent, even as his heart knew that the tale had to be told.

"The Ionians overran Callisto and Ganymede, killing and enslaving all they found. Only Europa remained to resist them. It took us ten years to drive the Ionians back to their native moon, and they fought us every step of the way. By the time it was over…very few were left on the other moons." He trailed off, trying compose himself.

"It is a sad story," he said eventually. "And painful in the telling." The chamber was very quiet.

"Then it would seem," Durandal spoke up, "that sad stories are something we all have in common." He gave Daniel a kind look. "Though I am surprised you tell it so forthrightly."

"It is our history," Daniel replied. "We are sworn never to deny it."

"What he means is," Cagalli interjected. "Most people would have tried to put a more positive spin on it. You've practically admitted that your nation was built on bloodshed."

Daniel felt a sudden surge of anger, of _hatred_, as if someone had opened a hatch and let all the heat in the chamber be sucked out. He shivered involuntarily, and turned his head just enough to look at the other guests, to see from whom it was coming.

There. The ZAFT pilot with the black hair, staring through cold, hard eyes.

But he wasn't staring at _him_. Rather at…

"Please, don't take it the wrong way," Cagalli insisted, noticing his discomfort. "It's in the past, and what matters is the present and the future. While we're talking here, the situation on Earth remains unstable, all the more so since your arrival. It's vital that diplomatic negotiations begin immediately." Cagalli drew herself up, and Daniel saw in her the dignity of a Head of State.

"Your highness, ambassador," she glanced at Brand. "If it is convenient, please accept the hospitality of the Orb Union. We are a neutral nation in good standing, which makes us the perfect place from which you can conduct negotiations."

"For myself, I would be honoured to accept," Daniel replied, after a bewildered pause. "But that is really a matter for the Captain and the Ambassador."

"I think it a good idea," Brand said, smiling. "It would be convenient to work on the surface, and in neutral territory."

"I have no objection under the circumstances," Captain Moneta added, also smiling.

"In which case," Daniel held out his hand. "We accept your kind offer."  
"That's gre…I mean, we are honoured." Cagalli shook his hand. Her grip was quite strong, or so Daniel thought. "If I return immediately, we can be ready for you in a day or two."

"Then allow me to be of some assistance," Durandal cut in, with a particularly disarming smile. "It would be an honour to me, and to ZAFT, if you would use the _Minerva _for your journey." He glanced at Captain Gladys. "I assume a drop is practicable, Captain?"

"Yes Chairman," Gladys replied emotionlessly. "We're ready any time."

"Thank you very much, Chairman Durandal!" Cagalli finally smiled.

And the already frigid presence of that young pilot grew even colder.

* * *

_**Orb Union, October 5**__**th**__** CE 73. **_

They came in the early hours of the morning.

They came, six black shapes emerging from the waters, the sound of their arrival drowned out by the crashing of the waves against the cliffs before them. They moved closer, ever so slowly, ever watchful for the beam of a searchlight or a cry of alarm.

But none came. It was a matter of a moment for each to disgorge its passenger, then slide back into the depths from whence they had come.

The six darted along the beach into the shadow of the cliff, glancing back and forth as they ran. Once in cover they waited, looking here and there to ensure that they were alone.

Nothing and no one. No cameras, no sensors, no tripwires, no booby traps, no guards.

It was enough to make one or two of them wonder just who it was they had been sent to kill. Who could warrant their efforts, yet live with so little protection?

If someone had happened to be observing them, they would have heard no words from their mouths. Their conversation was carried out via comm systems built into their tight-fitting helmets, their talk nothing more than barked words and phrases that would make no sense to anyone outside of their exclusive fraternity.

The six checked their weapons. Each carried a small machine pistol, made longer by the folding wire stock and the tubular silencer fitted to the barrel. This was supplemented by a handgun strapped to one leg and a survival knife to the other, just in case. Most important of all was the small tube attached to each belt, containing a substance so corrosive as to burn flesh and melt bone on contact. Though no threat to themselves in their skinsuits, it could destroy a body so completely as to render it unidentifiable even by DNA analysis.

The targets were not merely required to die, but to disappear.

The six moved up the hillside in a standard pattern; two on point, two in the middle, two in the rear. The moved with barely a sound, like so many ghosts, the fruit of years of practice. Always they glanced back and forth, sensor eyes probing the darkness for unwanted complications.

Nothing.

Nothing but a house sitting on a cliff, overlooking a beach.

A house where two very significant people resided, neither of whom wanted any of the importance that circumstance had thrust upon them.

Two unwillingly significant people, whom a certain person wanted dead.

The six were not inclined to reflect on such matters, nor to ask the sorts of questions the sort of people who came to them didn't want to answer. They bore their targets no particular ill-will, and it was not necessary for them to do the job.

For a job was all it was.

If anything truly worried the six, as they moved to surround the house, it was that there had been so little time to plan everything properly. The mission had been moved up only a few hours ago, and though soldiers of their ilk prided themselves on being able to react quickly, it meant they didn't have as much information as they would like.

Then again, there hardly seemed any cause for concern. The only ones who might pose a threat were Kira Yamato and Andrew Waltfeld, both Coordinators and war veterans. Lacus Clyne was a Coordinator also, but the six had it on good authority that she had never held a gun in her life. Murrue Ramius might put up a fight, but not much of a fight, and Kira's mother Caridad and the children even less so.

But there was something they didn't know, and were unlikely ever to have learned, about the oldest of those they had labelled _the children. _Had they known, and been able to understand, they might have been a little more cautious.

* * *

In his room above, Prayer Reverie snapped awake.

It took him a moment to remember where he was, to stop clawing at the bed and kicking at the sheets that pinioned his legs. It took a moment for him to stop hyperventilating, for his pounding heart to slow, for the sting of adrenalin to fade.

But even as he calmed, as the nightmare faded from his mind, the knowledge of who it was remained.

A being so perfect in form, yet indefinably flawed. The face of an angel, with hair of ebony black. Purple eyes that blazed with hatred, twin paths into a wounded, stunted, and deformed heart.

A heart Prayer Reverie had tried so hard to heal.

"_Canard Pars…why are you in my dreams now?_"

He had not set eyes on Canard Pars in many months, not since their last battle, inside that abandoned colony at Lagrange 4. Prayer had wondered about him on occasion, hoping that he was all right, that he had found a new purpose. It would have given meaning to the suffering he had endured, to everything that had happened.

To Prayer's…

That, of course, was why he couldn't confine in the others, not even in Miss Lacus. It would mean having to explain what had happened, and how he had come to be among them. He would have to tell them what Reverend Malchio had been forced to do, and he did not want them to think badly of his mentor.

It would be especially hurtful to Kira, and even more so to Miss Murrue, if they knew of his true origins.

Maybe that was why he dreamed of Canard Pars, of the person he himself might have become but for a quirk of fate that had sent him down a different path. But for the life he had known, a life of sorrowful knowledge and painful hardship, yet warmed by so many friendships and what might, had the fates allowed, been love.

"_Kazahana…_"

But it was not to be. Kazahana Adja was a person he could never see again, though he would always regard her kindly, for if she were to see him the truth would be obvious.

Prayer shook his head, willing the melancholy to leave him. There was no reason at all to be sorrowful, not for himself. He was grateful to Reverend Malchio for sending him to the orphanage, to live with Mister Kira and Miss Lacus. He had come to share in something special there, in the warmth and open-heartedness of an impromptu family. But beyond even that, he had entered the most wondrous of fellowships, an order of perfect loyalty and selfless love.

His heart belonged to Lacus Clyne.

And there was no reason to be unhappy.

So then why?

A sensation of…_something _drew his attention. It was a sensation he had felt before, but never in such a place as this. The last time he had felt it, he had been in the cockpit of a mobile suit, going into battle.

Why would he feel that way now?

Unless…

Slowly, carefully, Prayer stepped out of bed and tip-toed towards the window. It was a clear night, and the moon was large in the sky. He pressed himself against the wall and, ever so gingerly, leaned towards the window, enough so that one eye could see out.

He snapped back, heart thumping at one his eye had seen. The black silhouette, moving through the night like a living shadow, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

He had to warn them. He had to wake everyone up, to let them know of the danger.

And then he realised that he already had.

He felt a familiar mind, wondering what had touched it. Prayer tensed in anguish, _willing _Kira to sense his thoughts, to understand what he was trying to tell him.

Mercifully, Kira seemed to have gotten the idea. Prayer half-heard half-felt the footsteps in the corridor outside. The door swung open.

"Prayer?" Kira whispered. His eyes were red with sleep, but Prayer sensed his alertness.

"Mister Kira," he whispered back. "There are armed men outside."

"How many?" Prayer cleared his throat. This was too important for _that _to stay secret.

"Six of them. They've got the doors covered." Kira opened his mouth to ask how he could have known that.

"Haro! Haro!" an electronic voice cut through the silence. "There's a problem!" There was a thunder of footsteps, and Andrew Waltfeld stepped into the corridor, his scarred face nightmarish in the darkness. He was carrying a handgun, the one Prayer knew he kept under his pillow out of habit. An instant later Murrue Ramius emerged from her adjacent room, also armed.

"Kira, Prayer, get your clothes on, we've got unwanted visitors," growled the scar-faced veteran. "Go with Captain Ramius and look after Lacus, got it?"

"Right," Kira replied with a nod. "Commander, there's six of them out there, covering the exits." Waltfeld narrowed his good eye, glaring at Kira, then at Prayer, then back at Kira. Prayer tensed, sensing his suspicion.

He gave them a curt nod, and dashed away down the corridor. Murrue did likewise, heading for the room where Lacus and the children were sleeping. Prayer felt sick, fear and uncertainty clashing with his sense of urgency. There would be questions later, assuming they survived.

Kira gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, and the feeling of gratitude and camaraderie drove the fear from Prayer's heart. They hurried back to their rooms.

* * *

Andrew Waltfeld thought fast.

Despite a year or so of peaceful living, his battle-honed instincts were returning with a vengeance. And if there was one thing the war had taught him, it was that battles were as much about thought as they were about action. Victory all too often went to the one who could outthink his enemy.

He was not merely a Coordinator, but a soldier too, and a veteran. Military training and combat had honed his genetically-engineered talents into deadly weapons. His body was stronger, his mind and reflexes quicker, his thinking deeper, than any Natural. By all rights he should be invincible.

Except it didn't work like that.

Andrew knew the reality only too well. It was in a battle of the kind that awaited him, a battle of bullet and blade, that a Coordinator's innate abilities mattered the least.

Because no amount of genetic enhancement would save him from a hail of bullets.

He halted at the top of the stairs. He stood stock-still, gun up and ready, straining his ears for any sound.

Nothing.

Slowly, forcing himself not to hurry, Andrew crept down the stairs. The long corridor at the bottom was empty, and silent as a tomb.

He cursed silently. Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs. Lesser soldiers would have come in guns blazing, or shot the house up as a precaution. But not those who had come for him this night. Like him, they evidently had the will to move slowly and quietly, the strength to resist the urge to run, to scream, to fire.

Spec-ops. Almost certainly.

It didn't matter if they were Naturals or Coordinators, not at that level. He was facing soldiers who knew their own strengths, and what they were dealing with. They wouldn't make it easy for him.

"_Damn…_"

This would be hard. The way to the cellar, and the underground shelter, _had _to be clear. He couldn't fight with a blind priest, two unarmed women, and a half-dozen children hiding behind him. But for that same reason, if even _one _of the enemy got past him…

Andrew crept along the corridor, glancing behind him every other second, half-expecting some shadowy figure to come bursting through the front door behind him. He reached the end of the corridor, and a flash of instinct brought him to a halt.

Was one of them there? Or was he hearing things?

He could not wait. He could not be cautious. He had to act, no matter what.

Andrew spun round the corner, swinging his prosthetic arm ahead of him. He felt the impact of a combat knife catching in the hard plastic. He thrust the handgun forward, but the enemy jabbed his head forward, the head-butt knocking him back. He felt something strike his wrist, knocking the handgun out to clatter on the floor.

Then he saw it. The integrated combat helmet, insectile eyes glowing red in the darkness. The face was covered, making no sound.

Andrew felt himself hit the wall behind him. Desperate, he swung his body around, sliding out from between the wall and his attacker, his prosthetic forearm coming away, revealing the trump card underneath. The enemy dropped his knife, pinioned as it was by the forearm, hand dropping to his handgun.

The gun bellowed, the recoil thundering up Andrew's arm. The enemy was flung back, hitting the wall with a crash and slumping to the floor. The wall was splattered with blood.

Andrew paused only long enough to grab the enemy's machine pistol by the shoulder strap. He dropped back, holding the machine pistol in his good hand, blood thundering in his ears. When no one came, he reached for his dropped prosthetic, picking it up by the knife handle and slotting it back over the gun it had concealed.

It was another twinge of instinct that saved his life.

It made him bring up the machine pistol just as the front door crashed open. He fired, and the enemy crouching there slumped forward, his own machine pistol firing wide, bullets tearing holes in the walls.

He heard more gunfire from upstairs. Andrew was certain it was Murrue, having evidently tried to go by the back stairs. He had to help her, and fast.

He glanced round the corner again. No one there. Machine pistol held forward, Andrew hurried along the corridor. The sound of gunfire grew louder and louder as he ran, the sound spurring him on.

He squeezed off a burst as a helmeted head poked around the corner ahead of him. The head snapped back, and Andrew hurried on, pressing himself against the wall, machine pistol up and ready. He rounded the corner, saw the enemy duck inside the door frame just beyond the back stairs.

"Murrue!" he yelled.

"I'm here!" his friend called back.

"Come on!" Andrew stepped up to the door frame, glanced around, back and forth, as Murrue hurried down the stairs. Behind her came Kira, Lacus, Caridad, Prayer, and Reverend Malchio, along with the children. Kira and Lacus ran up to him as Murrue guarded the way he had come.

"Keep moving!" Andrew ordered, as Caridad and Malchio hustled the children into the upper shelter. "I downed two but there may be more!"

"I won't accept that!" It was Lacus' pink robopet Haro, otherwise known as Mister Pink. The spherical robot was hovering in front of Lacus, its upper flaps fluttering like wings. Kira and Andrew both turned to look, wondering what had disturbed it so. Her Haros could be unpredictable at the best of times.

"Lacus!" Kira yelled, diving at his beloved and knocking her to the floor. All at once Andrew saw what the robopet had seen, the enemy crouched inside the air vent, firing his machine pistol into the empty air where Lacus had stood only a moment ago. Andrew fired, and the enemy slumped.

"_The air ducts_," he thought, gritting his teeth. "_Smart…_"

Kira and Lacus darted through the door. Andrew and Murrue followed, backing through the doorway with guns raised. Andrew jabbed at the door control, and the heavy door slid shut.

For a strange instant, time seemed to have stopped.

Then Murrue slumped to her knees, breathing heavily. Andrew felt weary himself. The only other sound was the whimpering of the children and the hushed voices of Lacus, Caridad, and Prayer trying to comfort them. Andrew felt Kira's gaze upon him.

"Who were they?" the youth asked, his tone uncharacteristically harsh.

"Naturals," Murrue breathed. "Spec ops quality."

"Agreed," Andrew said. "They were good, damn good. How many did you see?"

"Three. I got one, but there were two more at the bottom of the stairs. They backed off when you came."

"Five." Andrew sighed. "Three down, two maybe three active." He could not keep himself from glancing at Prayer, and wondering just how he and Kira had known that there would be six. Come to think of it, how had they _both _been awake before Mister Pink started screeching?

Andrew Waltfeld didn't like mysteries, at least not when they involved people trying to kill him.

"But who are they?" Kira asked again, agitated. "Who were they after?"

"Beats me," Andrew replied sourly. "Nothing in their gear to set them apart." He held up the looted machine pistol, turning it over and over in his hands. The serial numbers had been filed off.

"They could've been that new Blue Cosmos unit," Murrue commented, standing up. "The one Cagalli told us about."

"The Preservers?" Andrew thought about it. "I guess, but they were kinda professional for a bunch of fanatics. They could be OMNI, Phantom Pain, even mercenaries. As for the target, it could have been any of us, or all of us."

They were silent for a while, none of them willing to say aloud what they were thinking.

"Kira, Commander Waltfeld, Miss Murrue." The three looked up as Lacus approached, carrying Mister Pink. She carried herself with her customary dignity and grace, but all three knew her well enough to know that she was worried. It was hard not to be, for although they had hit the panic button, it would be several minutes before help would arrive.

And that was assuming there was anyone to hear it, or give the order to respond. Cagalli was still in space, after all.

"Those men out there." Her voice was level, but still tinged with worry. "They were after me, weren't they?"

"We don't know that." Kira stepped forward and took her hands in his own. "Commander Waltfeld's right, it could be any of us except Mom, Prayer, or the kids."

"I agree, Miss Lacus," Reverend Malchio spoke up from across the small chamber. "Even I have made my fair share of enemies."

"Even the fact that they're not Coordinators doesn't mean anything," Andrew commented sourly. "We've pissed off enough people rich enough to afford mercenaries between us."

The chamber shook, tossing Lacus into Kira's unsuspecting arms. The children cried out in fear.

"Into the lower shelter!" Lacus ordered, and they hurried through the open door and down the shallow ramp to the main bunker. The last door slid shut behind them, and there was nowhere else to run.

"Mobile suits?" Murrue asked.

"Almost certainly!" Andrew replied. "That narrows the list! But either way they're determined to get us! And with that kind of firepower it won't be long!"

The chamber rumbled again, and again. The bunker was tough, capable of withstanding anything short of a direct hit from a nuclear warhead, but it had not been designed to resist firepower concentrated on a small area. They were running out of time.

"Lacus," he said. "You have the keys?"

All looked up at him, then at Kira and Lacus.

"Let's open the door," Andrew pressed. "It's our only chance now." No one spoke.

"I…" Lacus faltered. "I don't know…"

"Lacus." Kira leaned closer, still clutching her hand.

"Kira…" Lacus looked up at him, her fear mingling with a terrible sadness. Both looked up at the double doors set into the opposite longitudinal wall of the chamber. They all knew what was beyond it.

Not many things could move Andrew Waltfeld to tears, but this was one of them.

He had come to know them well. He knew how much they wanted to escape, to leave behind a world that refused to see anything more than what they could do, or what they represented, from a humanity that claimed such prejudice as their inalienable and God-given right. He knew how they longed to be free, to live out their lives in something approximating to peace.

But though they were done with the world, the world was not done with them, and never would be. For some, their mere existence was an affront to all that was good and right, an affront that demanded vengeance. They made mockeries of ideals once held sacred; that all people were inherently equal, and that anyone could achieve anything if they worked hard enough at it. For others, it was the simple fact that they were alive, and together, while others had paid the price.

"Lacus," Kira said. "I want to do it."

"No!" Lacus pleaded, shaking her head. "You don't have to!"

"It's all right." Kira smiled. "I'm all right with it, really."

"Kira…" Kira put his arms around her, pressing her to him.

"It would hurt me more if I couldn't protect you," he said, so very gently, pressing his face into her soft pink hair. "To protect you is all I want to do, all I _ever _want to do."  
"I'm sorry." There were tears in her blue eyes.

"Shall we?" Lacus stepped back, and lifted the chain from around her neck, from which hung a golden key. Kira did likewise, revealing a matching silver key. They stepped over to the control panels set either side of the huge doors.

"On three." Kira and Lacus slid their keys into the locks. "One, two, _three._" As one they turned, and the enormous doors began to slide open. In the chamber beyond, the lights came on, revealing the relic enshrined there. A relic of a past they had both tried so very hard to leave behind.

Kira took one last look at his true love, then strode along the gantry towards the mobile suit. She watched him all the way, and he caught a glimpse of her eyes as he sat in the pilot's chair, and the cockpit closed in front of him.

"Lacus," he whispered, the thought of her shielding him from the horror of what he was about to do. "Don't fear for me."  
He switched on the power, the cockpit coming alive around him. The main screen flashed to life, the circle and hourglass emblem of ZAFT emblazoned across it, along with the words MOBILE SUIT NEO OPERATION SYSTEM. Another window appeared over it.

_Generation_

_Unsubdued_

_Nuclear_

_Drive_

_Assault _

_Module_

Gundam.

It was just a name he had made up, the first time he had piloted such a machine. But since then it had become a meme, a symbol, perhaps even a prayer. Or a curse.

As the cables disconnected and the gantry withdrew, Kira put his right hand to the throttle, sliding it forward to full power. He felt the shudder run through him as the engines came online, as if the mobile suit was straining at the bit, yearning to be let loose. He checked his screen. The hatch was open.

Kira pressed down the pedals, and ZGMF-X10A _Freedom _leapt for the sky.

As the world opened like a flower around him, Kira remembered how it felt to pilot a mobile suit. He could not deny the thrill of it, the power that seemed to course through him.

The power to destroy. The power to save.

He could see them clearly, standing on the beach below. The shape was familiar, even without the IFF telling him, with that distinctive ovoid head made for cutting through the water, the arms and legs short and stocky. ZAFT's UMF-4A GOOhN.

Except they weren't, or not exactly. They were different, and not just in their colour scheme, which was a very dark blue. As Kira zoomed in the camera, he could see the subtle differences in their configuration, in the shape of the armour plates, and something in the mono-eye.

Whoever they were, they weren't ZAFT. Those machines were black market repair jobs, salvaged from some nameless battlefield, repaired by unregistered junk-techs, and sold on to the highest bidder.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except protecting them.

Kira didn't think. He did not have to think. The power of the SEED ordered his thoughts, guided and purified his will. He did not think, but merely _did._

His fingers flashed over the dashboard, keying for the railguns and beam cannons. The deadly weapons slid into place, the former about _Freedom_'s waist and the latter over its shoulders. Already the targeting system was at work, picking out four targets, and a fifth for his beam rifle. Kira put his hands about the joysticks, his right finger upon the trigger for the beam rifle, and his thumbs upon the triggers for the beam cannons and railguns, linked to fire in pairs. The GOOhNs were firing, their twin masers searing the air around him, the _Freedom_'s ECM package more than equal to their sensors.

Kira fired.

* * *

_**Orb Union, several hours later**_

It was good to be home.

So Cagalli thought, as the _Minerva_ approached the dock. The _Minerva _was a warship of a new and unusual type, one as comfortable upon the waters as it was in the void.

It reminded her of the _Archangel_.

How different she had been back then. How full of life, of sound and fury. How _different _things had been back then, when she was responsible for nothing but her own life, a life she chose to risk as she pleased. How different it had been, when she was merely Cagalli Yula Athha.

Those days were gone, and she was Chief Representative. She had come into her own, before her time some said, her soul weighed down by remorse. The guilt of a survivor, whose own father had thrust her to safety and waited to die. By the sacrifice of countless others had she survived, while Uzumi Nara Athha had gone to his death in satisfaction.

The noblest of leaders, the kindest of fathers. The man she had cursed as a coward and traitor over a conspiracy not of his making, and crimes not of his doing. The man who had lived by his ideals to the very end, even as Orb was cast into the flame.

Uneasy lay the head that wore a crown, be it literally or figuratively.

And she wore a crown, that much Cagalli knew. She had always hated being called a princess, though in a manner of speaking that was what she was. It was inappropriate, for there was no such title as Princess of Orb. It was disrespectful, for she had known quite a few princesses, some of them personally, and knew she was not of their element.

All the same she wore a crown. Her father had told her that a crown was placed as much upon the heart as it was upon the head. No crown was upon her head, for such was not Orb's custom, but it was upon her heart.

How heavily upon her heart.

Cagalli cursed herself for such thoughts. They were unworthy compared to what her country had endured, and what her father had suffered. Her anguish was not compared to what he must have felt in those days.

Not that _he _would ever understand.

It was fortunate that she had managed to avoid Shinn Asuka, or perhaps he was merely avoiding her. Either way it was to the good, for the last thing she needed was another confrontation. She understood what Athrun had said, but it was still hard to take.

"_Athrun…_"

Dear, faithful, gentle Athrun. He had suffered far worse than her, if such a thing were possible. For hers was a noble father, whose memory strengthened her even as it pained her. The son of Patrick Zala was nothing like so blessed.

She knew she should not hate him, though her heart demanded it. Patrick Zala had been a beast, his greatness corrupted by hatred and power lust, but war had made him so, as it had with so many others. Who could say they would not do likewise, had they a wife snatched away in the passing of an instant? Might not her own father, in his place, have fallen so?

But she could not forgive his last crime, committed in the place of his greatest. The crime had been his last words, uttered as he died, drifting amid his blood on the GENESIS' bridge.

"_Athrun…fire the GENESIS…make the world…for our people…"_

She could not forgive it, for it was as if he had snatched away a portion of Athrun's soul and bore it to his damnation.

Her sad reverie was disturbed by the sound of footsteps on the deck behind her. She looked round, and saw Athrun approaching from the hatch.

"Hey," he greeted her, somewhat subdued.

"Hey." He stepped up to the rail beside her, keeping a respectful distance. For a few moments they took in the view, trying to think of something to say.

"So…" Cagalli began, hoping to fill the awkward silence. "What did you think of the Jovians?"

"Them?" Athrun paused awkwardly. "Well…there's a lot to think. A lot to take in."

"Prince Daniel then?"

"He seemed sincere. But…" Athrun's countenance darkened. "There was something…strange there."

"Strange?"

"A presence," Athrun said, his tone implying that he wasn't entirely sure what he meant. "A memory, like encountering someone I've met before but forgotten." Cagalli did not reply, for she did not know what to say to such a musing.

"I just hope this works out," she said, changing the subject. "We might just be able to stop this."

"I hope so too." Athrun sighed, and gazed out over the ocean. "There…cannot be another war. There…_must _not…" He shuddered, his fists clenched. A part of Cagalli yearned to comfort him, to put her arms around him, to lay his head upon her heart and draw out his sorrow. But for the will that had sustained her through so many trials, she would have done so there and then.

She knew better. She knew she dare not. Not so openly, not where they could so easily be seen. They had taken too many risks already, especially that night after the banquet.

As the _Minerva _reversed itself to enter the dock, the pair made their way inside and down to the exit hatch. They passed the minutes silently, unable to speak to Captain Gladys or Vice-Captain Trine.

As soon as the ship was docked, and the boarding gantry secured, they headed out towards the quay. Orb's government had been informed of her arrival, and had prepared accordingly. Cagalli could see a half-dozen limousines parked behind the gaggle of movers and shakers, ready to whisk them all back to Government House. She could make out various political types in the same purple and white as herself, and officers of the defence forces in white and blue.

As she reached the steps, she saw the portly shape of Prime Minister Unato Ema Seiren, his eyes concealed behind orange glasses. Though ageing, the balding aristocrat had proven himself quite capable. She had no doubt that he had managed to keep things in hand. "Cagalli!" A young man with the stylishly coiffed purple hair darted forward and crushed her in a bear-hug.

"Y…Yuna!" Cagalli protested, appalled. Yuna Roma Seiren, son of the aforementioned Prime Minister, had been increasingly demonstrative of late. But she would never have expected him to be so forward as _that_.

"Now Yuna," Unato admonished sternly. "You're making the ZAFT officers uncomfortable." Yuna backed off, crestfallen.

"Unato Ema," Cagalli greeted him, smiling.

"Welcome back, Chief Representative." Unato bowed his head in respect, and the others did likewise. "I must say it's a relief to see you alive and well."  
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for this crucial time," Cagalli said sincerely. "Thank you for taking care of things while I was away."

"Think nothing of it, Chief Representative." Unato seemed to be in quite a good mood. "The people understand the importance of what you've been doing. It would seem you've covered yourself in glory, this time of a civic nature."

"Thank you." Cagalli blushed in spite of herself. "Will we be in a position to greet the Jovians soon?"

"All efforts will be made, Chief Representative. We'll discuss it in detail at the meeting." He turned his attention to Captain Gladys and Vice-Captain Trine, who stepped forward to salute and introduce themselves. Cagalli was glad she had managed to get some sleep on the way, or else she would have found it unbearably tedious.

"I am Prime Minister Unato Ema Seiren," Unato replied. "I'd like to thank you for going to the trouble of bringing our Chief Representative home."

"It was our pleasure, Prime Minister," Talia replied graciously. "Chairman Durandal thought it an appropriate show of our esteem at this auspicious time."

"Auspicious indeed," Unato agreed. "To think that a ship would come all the way from Jupiter. I have to say I've been on tenterhooks for many months. What's more, our Chief Representative seems to have scored us quite the diplomatic victory."

"I daresay, Prime Minister."

"In any case, your crew must be tired. Please do us the honour of accepting our hospitality while you are here. I'll also have our work crews attend to your ship, if that meets with your approval."

"Thank you very much, Prime Minister." Captain and Vice-Captain saluted.

"If you please, Chief Representative," Unato turned his attention to Cagalli. "We should make our way to the meeting now. There are some urgent matters that need attending to, if you will excuse us Captain Gladys." More salutes, and Unato turned away. Cagalli made to follow, only for Yuna to step in and put his arm about her shoulder.

"Oh, and by the way Alex," Yuna called high-handedly to Athrun, who was still standing by the gantry. "We're grateful for your steadfast and loyal service. Thank you." Athrun bowed his head.

"But…" Cagalli tried to protest.

"You can submit your report later," Yuna cut her off. "But you should get some rest. We may need you to act as an envoy to the PLANTs."

"I…" Cagalli stammered, as Yuna led her away. "But he's…"

"Now Cagalli," Yuna drawled, in what he must have thought was a sexy voice. "You simply _must _tell me everything about the Jovians."

Athrun watched them go without a word.

* * *

**I can only apologise for the time this took. This has to be my worst delay ever, a combination of end-of-year chaos and a heavy workload which I have since shifted. **

**A couple of small matters. Firstly, the Eurasian Laurium project ships are the same ships used by the Crossbone Vanguard in Gundam F91, but with some little surprises. I happen to like those, and I reckoned if Destiny was allowed to steal the Zaku, the Gouf **_**and **_**the Dom, then there was no reason why I couldn't enjoy myself a little. The _Andromeda _class are Zamouth Garrs, the _Aurora_ class are Zamouth Jess', the _Armorica _class are Zamouth Giri, and the _Skoryi _class are Zamouth Nadas. **

**As for the raid sequence, I altered it for a couple of reasons. For one, for Durandal to send ZAFT spec-ops with new-model mobile suits seemed like a serious mistake. I'm not sure how he was going to explain away Coordinator corpses and shards of ZAFT mobile suits strewn all over the landscape. As the only person who could credibly have ordered the attack, it meant that Kira and Lacus were after his blood from the very beginning. To me, it seemed far less risky to use mercenaries. Admittedly six GOOhNs aren't much compared to the Freedom, but there was no way anyone could have known it was stored there (or else they would be getting attacked every other week). As with the battle in the debris belt, it just seemed like a more believable scenario. **

**EDIT - Correction: Messala replaced with Mercury. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_What is a Coordinator?_

_It's not as easy a question as some would make it seem. Perhaps we should ask George Glenn, the man who coined the term. He called himself the regulator, the coordinator, the one who was destined to light our way._

_The title he bestowed upon himself in sublime arrogance has been appropriated by his children. It is not enough for the Coordinators that they have stronger bodies and quicker minds, that they are all but immune to known diseases, and can master any discipline or art that human culture has created. They believe that they are the chosen people, the children of destiny, the rightful rulers of all humanity._

_If not its successors._

_Over centuries of study, argument, obfuscation, and even bloodshed, we have established the Theory of Evolution as a fundamental scientific principle, with so vast a store of evidence that no credible alternative can be proposed. It is simple fact, to our more enlightened generations, that humanity came about through subtle and gradual changes over countless millennia, every generation of living creature being slightly different from the last. _

_Many who first heard of evolution were repelled by it, hateful and fearful of the idea that they were the products of trial-and-error experimentation in the laboratory of existence, rather than the beloved and favoured creations of an all-powerful deity. It was not enough for them that to know the means was not to know the reason why or how. It was not enough for them that God might yet exist. They needed their dogma, their written words, and their one and only understanding. If their words were not true, then nothing was true and God could not exist._

_But evolution is the truth, and like all things it exists for very good reasons. The creatures that inhabit our blue and pure world came about because they happened to possess the right qualities for their environments. Call it fate or call it providence, the creatures we see today possessed evolutionary advantages that allowed them to survive. Through the constant process of evolution, our biosphere has remained stable and sustainable, part of a vast, interconnected, and self-correcting system that some have chosen to call Gaia. _

_But this system called Gaia is under threat, from that same quality that caused mankind to exploit and harm the Earth in order to place itself outside the natural order. Even now, as we travel into space and relieve the Earth of its eons-old burden, our ingenuity threatens to overturn our stable biosphere through the creation of new life. _

_The Coordinators are fashioned from human DNA, but they are not human. Their preternatural abilities derive from artificial coding, putting them outside the process of evolution and the system of Gaia. They will marginalise us, taking from us the opportunities we need to function and flourish in our advanced society, by the false-merit of genetic superiority. They will oppress and enslave us, as their numbers grow. They expect that we shall eventually die out, as obsolete species have invariably done. _

_But we will not die out as they wish, for we have evolved within Gaia, and Gaia accepts us as a part of itself. When their desires to not come about, the Coordinators in their jealous fury will turn on us and destroy us. In so doing they will destroy themselves, for they will have irrevocably upset the system of Gaia._

_To create Coordinators is to doom humanity. To tolerate Coordinators is to oppress humanity. To allow Coordinators to exist is to doom all life. _

_That is why Blue Cosmos exists._

_That is why we fight. _

_Galen Mikhail _

* * *

_**Then**_

_**North America, CE 55**_

The door blew in with an ear-splitting crack.

All those inside looked up, too stunned to react, or even to wonder what the cause could be.

The first burst of gunfire broke the spell, sending a white-coated laboratory assistant flying backwards in a spray of arterial crimson. Mouths opened to scream, only to be silenced forever.

The first darted through the scorched doorway, head snapping back and forth for any sign of danger. Two more followed, looking up along the ceiling and the tops of the walls, taking out the security cameras with quick bursts. Four more brought up the rear, making seven in total.

Seven men. Seven soldiers. Seven warriors for justice, and a blue and pure world.

The seven split up, four taking the ground floor, three heading up the stairs. The four charged down the corridor, firing their silenced carbines at anything that moved. Lab personnel in white coats, porters in overalls, all fell before their fury. Glass shattered, voices screamed, blood splashed over sterile white walls and floors.

When the four could find no more yet living, they turned their fury upon the laboratories themselves. They tore open the cabinets, smashing everything they found, until the floors were covered in broken glass. They pulled computers from the workstations and threw them to the floor, ripping out the hard drives to crush under their boot heels. They broke open the freezers, firing at the locks until they fizzed and sparked, hauling the heavy doors open to reveal the abominations within.

How innocent they seemed, how _innocuous_. Racks upon racks of phials of clear or coloured liquid, the true nature of which was as incomprehensible to the four as the neatly-written labels.

Better that it was. Better that they never know, and never understand. Better that such things were _never_ understood, for such knowledge served only to defile the sacred human genome, to poison human civilization with permanent genetic injustice, to pollute the blue and pure world.

So they had been told, so many times. So they had been told once again by Mikhail, the wise and powerful leader of their organisation, when he chose them for a special task. Such was what he wanted them to know, to _feel_, to understand.

Such was all they needed to understand. For such was the will of Blue Cosmos.

Looking at the rows of glass phials, and knowing what Mikhail had told them they contained, they knew what had to be done. The leader of the four lowered his rifle, and reached in with his free hand to remove one of the phials from the nearest rack.

"Rest in blissful ignorance, genetic trash." He threw the phial down to shatter on the floor.

"Your deaths are humanity's salvation," said another, throwing down another phial.

"For the preservation of our blue and pure world," intoned the third, as he did likewise.

Thus they continued their work, the most sacred part of their mission. It would take them just under two minutes to complete.

While this took place, the three carried out their own mission on the floor above. There had been no real resistance, for the fools had not thought fit to keep any weapons inside the facility. They had somehow believed that the law would protect them from the righteous anger of untainted humanity.

It took only a few minutes, meticulously checking each and every room, killing anyone they found inside, before they reached their objective. The door was not marked in any way, but the three knew from the information provided by Mikhail that four of the six targets would be in there. The information had, Mikhail claimed, been provided by new-found brethren inside the project, who had at length come to understand the horror of what they were doing. There was no sign of the informants, whatever their reasons had been, but their information had been proven correct thus far. There was no reason to believe that _this _was a lie.

The three glanced at one-another as they took up position around the door. Mikhail had made it very clear to them what they would find, and what would have to be done. He had reminded them of the need for strength, that no abomination could be allowed to escape into the world, no matter how old.

Or how young.

The door was slightly ajar. One of the three positioned himself just next to it, looking up at his fellows as he touched the bulbous silencer to the door. They nodded, indicating that they were ready.

The man shoved the door hard, pointing his carbine inside as the door swung inward, hitting the wall with a clunk.

There was no one inside.

Slowly, both wary of a booby-trap and not wanting to believe what his senses told him, the leader of the three stepped cautiously over the threshold and into the room. Arranged along the opposite wall were four incubators, of the sort that could be found in the neo-natal ward of any maternity hospital.

They were empty.

The leader turned to regard his two comrades, who stared back at him in bewilderment.

"Split up and search," he said coldly. "They can't have gone far." The pair nodded and darted off along the corridor. The leader headed in the opposite direction, teeth gritted behind his ski mask. He knew he was taking a risk by splitting up, but catching the abominations took priority over all else. He turned to leave.

What he saw standing in the doorway brought him to a sudden halt, his heart skipping a beat.

It was a boy, maybe ten years old, wearing a pair of nondescript pyjamas with the letter K sewn onto the breast pocket. He had very short and neat black hair, and gimlet eyes that were neither entirely blue nor entirely green. He seemed remarkably at ease, for a young boy faced with an armed man who had just murdered his caregivers. The face, its features vaguely south-Asian, was entirely expressionless.

The leader forced his mind to clear, driving away the paralyzing bewilderment. He levelled his carbine, ready to do what Mikhail had called upon him to do.

The boy moved. The leader barely had time to register the fact before his right shin collapsed. He hit the floor hard, fighting the dizziness to raise his weapon as the boy rose from a crouch beside him. The boy's hand flashed out, breaking his wrist and knocking the carbine away. The other hand caught him in the face, crushing his nose with a wet crunch.

The leader slumped back down, pain warring with dizziness and adrenalin. He blinked, trying to regain some control as the boy pulled his handgun from the holster at his waist and stood beside him, aiming the weapon between his twitching eyes.

"Coordinator…" the man gurgled, gazing up the barrel.

"Wrong."

The gun fired.

* * *

_**Now**_

_**Government House, Onamuji Island, Orb Union, October 10**__**th**__** CE 73.**_

The atmosphere could not have been more tense if they had been sitting on an armed nuclear bomb.

Cagalli did her best to keep her face straight, and her countenance civil. It had been only a few weeks since she had last sat in the meeting chamber at Government House, dealing with representatives of the Atlantic Federation. She could only hope things would go better than they had back then.

Something was very different this time. Next to her at the table sat Daniel Scirocco, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Jupiter, along with Ambassador Feretrius Brand and a Jovian woman in civilian garb whose name she didn't know, but who appeared to be acting as the ambassador's secretary. On her other side was Prime Mininster Unato Ema Seiren, and at the end was his son Yuna. In this manner they had handled similar meetings with the representatives of many other nations and superpower unions.

The meetings had thus far been cordial, even enthusiastic. Cagalli's hopes had risen with every handshake, every compliment, and every promise. Even knowing such gestures for what they were, there was cause for cautious optimism. If she could get enough representatives of enough governments together for long enough, then there was a good chance they would start talking. Maybe, just maybe, the crisis could be averted.

But now, sitting in the chamber opposite six representatives of the Atlantic Federation, three of them uniformed OMNI officers, her optimism was fading with every tense, glacial second. One of them she recognized as Alfred Masterman, the Atlantic Federation's ambassador to Orb, but the others were all strangers.

The security in the chamber was more than adequate. As a counterpoint to the Secret Service agents standing by the wall at her end of the chamber, she had permitted Daniel to station two of his companions along the wall at his end. She could see them in the corner of her eye, standing at ease in their blue uniforms, eyes set straight ahead.

The one on the right, Hannon Gable, she had privately nicknamed _Bishounen_, for that was what he was. That finely-crafted face, the white-blond hair reaching almost to his waist, the physique just solid enough to be impressive but not enough to be brutish. His presence had caused no end of squealing and giggling among the maids, and not only them. Cagalli understood his appeal, even if she did not feel the same way.

The one on the left, Damien Valorum, she had nicknamed _Bansho._ He was wiry, somewhat leaner than Hannon, with a narrow, angular face and spiky black hair held up by a red headband. There was a wild, almost dangerous air about him, reflected in his narrow, dark eyes. He had managed not to cause trouble so far, but for some reason Cagalli's eyes and thoughts kept wandering back to him every time she sensed trouble.

She wished Athrun could be there, but Unato Ema had managed to keep him just about everywhere else but where she was, carrying out one task or another. She had hardly seen him since they arrived aboard the _Minerva_, which was currently in drydock over at Onogoro island being repaired.

She wanted to see him. She _wanted _to, but…

"Representatives of the Atlantic Federation," Unato Ema began, his gravel voice drawing Cagalli back to the present. "The Chief Representative and I are pleased to present his Royal Highness Prince Daniel, and Ambassador Brand. It is my hope that…"

"Enough of the small talk, Prime Minister," interrupted one of the OMNI officers, an older man whose insignia revealed him to be a general. "We have some questions we would like to ask your guests." His tone was harsh and clipped. Cagalli felt ice water in her veins.

"What questions would those be?" ambassador Brand asked, maintaining a suitably decorous air.

"There are two main questions," Ambassador Masterman said reasonably. "First of all, we want to know what your business is in the Earth Sphere. Why have you come here?"

"As we stated in our address," Brand replied, apparently unruffled, "we have come in order to establish diplomatic contact and trade."

"So you claimed," the general sneered, "after arriving in a heavily armed warship, accompanied by your heir apparent." He glanced at Daniel as if he were something he'd found while cleaning a septic tank. "You'll forgive us if we take your excuses with a pinch of salt." Cagalli saw Daniel's companions tense visibly, and silently prayed they would contain themselves.

"I really don't see what the problem is," Brand insisted mildly, his face unreadable. "I think the current situation has more than justified our decision to arm our vessel."

"Which brings us to the second point," the civilian sitting next to the ambassador spoke up. It was a man in early middle age in a dark suit, his eyes emotionless. "We want to know what your relationship is with the so-called People's Liberation Action Nation of Technology, otherwise known as PLANT, and the Orb Union."

"There is not relationship!" Cagalli blurted out, trying and failing to control herself. "We didn't even know anyone was living in Jovian space until the Junius Seven incident."

"The Chief Representative is quite right," the ambassador added. "We have had no contact of any kind before then."

"No contact?" the man asked, his tone taking on a hard edge. "Your society develops sufficiently to build a vessel as powerful as yours, yet you were unable to make contact with the Earth? Your birth world?"

"I fail to see your point." Cagalli felt her heart speed up as she heard the threat in Brand's tone.

"Our point," the general cut in again. "Is that we of the Atlantic Federation are not currently able to decide what you are. That is to say what _species _you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Cagalli demanded, half-rising from her seat. "Do you people seriously regard the Jovians as non-human?!"

"No other conclusion is logically possible," the general went on, his tone ever more harsh. "Your ancestors left Earth behind over one hundred and fifty years ago, abandoning their fellow humans in their time of need. Not only that, but they have lived in an intense radiation zone for that entire period, and yet survived. Thus whatever you might be, morally or physically, we cannot regard you Jovians as human."

"That's _insane_!" Cagalli protested, horrified. "I can't believe the Atlantic Federation is seriously entertaining such a policy!"

"Chief Representative," Unato growled warningly. "If you please!" Beside him, Yuna was looking nervous.

"It is the Atlantic Federation's policy," another of the civilians spoke up, "to defend humanity against all threats, no matter from where they originate. We could not help but notice that the first representatives of the Earth sphere with whom you met were the heads of state of PLANT and Orb. This is not a matter we can ignore."

"It is obvious that you bear some ill-will towards PLANT," Daniel spoke up, somehow managing to keep his tone level. "Why is that?"

"The Coordinators who inhabit the PLANTs are an affront to human dignity!" the civilian almost shouted. "Our Atlantic Federation has never abandoned the sacred principle that all humans are created equal, and granted certain abilities and talents by providence to be used as best they can. The Coordinators are an affront to these truths, in that by genetic engineering they are granted capabilities far beyond those of any but the most talented of Naturals. These advantages have made them a genetic elite, unconcerned with the wellbeing of those less capable than themselves, and beyond the reach of all competition. In a world where Coordinators reside, Naturals cannot hope to survive, let alone flourish."

"Don't listen to his claptrap!" Cagalli snapped. "It's true that some Coordinators misused their talents, but that doesn't make them _all _monsters!"  
"Such words are to be expected from the leader of Orb!" barked one of the officers. "You allow Coordinators to live and work in your country, and grow fat off the profits while your Natural subjects languish in mediocrity! Not only that, but you conspire with the PLANTs to undermine law and order in _our _sovereign territory!"

"That's a lie!" Cagalli was on her feet, almost consumed with rage.  
"Do you deny that you and Chairman Durandal are conspiring with the British government to bring about an illegal secession in defiance of legally-binding treaties!" the officer roared, his eyes bulging. "Do you deny your intent to split us from our brethren?! To weaken us in the face of our enemies?!"

"You have no proof!" Cagalli shrieked, as images of what OMNI had done to her country a year ago rose to assail her mind. "How _dare _you come into our country and make such accusations!"

"Chief Representative!" Unato growled, grabbing her arm. The officer was about to say more, but Masterman thrust him back into his seat.

"Everyone, please," Daniel pleaded, spreading his hands in a placatory gesture. "This is pointless."

"You're right, this _is _pointless," the general spat. "We were fools to believe we could expect fair treatment from elitist nations! This is an obvious conspiracy to abrogate our rightful security and interests!"

"Why can you not understand?!" Daniel protested, raising his voice for the first time. "We mean you no harm! We do not understand these conflicts!"

"And we" the first civilian snapped back, "will not be dictated-to by the son of a tyrant!"

"Get…out…!"

It took a moment for those presence to realise that the hissed words had come from Cagalli. She looked up, eyes blazing.

"You heard me!" She roared. "Out! All of you!"

"Chief Representative!" Unato tried to interject, to no avail.

"Get out!" Cagalli was a tower of fury. "Your diplomatic status is revoked! And, _ambassador_!" She fixed the hapless Masterman with a glare that would have melted permafrost. "If there is not a written apology for this…_fiasco _on my desk within twenty four hours, you and your staff can join them! Am I understood?!"

"Y..yes, Chief Representative." The ambassador stood up and scurried out. The others followed with more dignity, but not before the general took the time to spit on the carpet.

For a few moments there was silence, broken eventually by the sound of a fist coming down on the table with bone-cracking force. All looked to see Damien hunched over the table, teeth clenched and eyes blazing.

"Filth!" he snarled. "Lousy…rotten…!"

"Damien," Daniel pleaded, holding out a hand to his friend. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" Damien roared. "Calling you…calling his majesty…!" He choked off his words, fighting down his rage.

"Your highness!" wailed Yuna, darting past his father's bulk. He looked as mortified as Cagalli felt. "I am _terribly _sorry!"

"Lord Yuna," Daniel said, trying to calm him.

"I have no excuse!" Yuna went on, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. "I…I simply can't _believe _they would _say _such things! About your highness! And your noble father! Oh for shame!"

"Enough, Yuna!" Unato barked, silencing his overly-effusive son as he stood up and bowed to the Jovians. "Your highness, ambassador, I feel it incumbent upon me to apologise also. I never expected the Atlantic Federation's representatives to behave in such a fashion."

"Please do not concern yourself, Prime Minister," replied Brand, standing to return the bow. "It was not your fault."

"If you will excuse me," Unato inclined his head once again. "I will see to this matter." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the chamber. Cagalli glanced after him, then returned her attention to Daniel. He stood with his back to her, conversing quietly with Hannon and Damien. There seemed to be a shadow about them.

"Prince Daniel." Daniel turned to face her. For an instant his face put her in mind of a young boy whose heartfelt gift had been sneeringly rejected.

"Are you all right?" she asked, the words sounding awkward and pathetic to her ears.

"I am all right, Chief Representative." The look vanished from Daniel's face, replaced with a decorous mask. "Please do not concern yourself."

"If you need to rest," she went on, "we can postpone the next meeting."

"That won't be necessary," Daniel insisted, managing a thin smile. "Though, I thank you for fighting our corner so passionately."

"It was the least I could do. Will you at least have lunch with us as planned?"

"Oh you must, you _must_!" Yuna pleaded. "You _must _allow us to make up for this disgrace, even in so small a way as this!" Daniel looked mildly taken aback, and Cagalli resisted the urge to kick Yuna in the shins. He had done little but brown-nose to the Jovians, and to Daniel especially, since they had arrived.

"I would be happy to join you, Chief Representative."

* * *

"Just what exactly was _that _all about?!"

Unato Ema Seiren rarely lost his temper, or made any real show of emotion. But he was about as close as he normally got to a towering fury, and in the privacy of the small meeting room Alfred Masterman was about to fall victim to it.

"Prime Minister…"

"I don't expect much from the Atlantic Federation's diplomatic corps," Unato snarked, seeing no reason and harbouring little desire to consider the ambassador's feelings. "But this time you've excelled yourselves. You've managed to enrage two governments and make complete fools of yourselves in front of the entire Earth Sphere in the space of an afternoon. Congratulations ambassador."

It wasn't as if he was exaggerating. It had to be one of the worst diplomatic foul-ups since the Zimmerman telegram.

"I was under the impression, _ambassador,_" he went on. "That your government wanted _our _help. As happy as House Seiren is to be of assistance, you're not exactly making it easy."

"Get off my case!" Masterman snapped, finally losing his temper. "This was none of my doing! I had no say in their selection or their briefing!"

"Then perhaps you won't mind telling me who did?"

"How should I know?!" Masterman mopped his brow. The tension in the room was palpable.

"It's a question of domestic opinion," he said, restraint audible in his tone. "A lot of people in the Atlantic Federation are very worried about your new friends and…_certain elements_ are stirring them up."

"Those elements wouldn't happen to include Blue Cosmos, would they?" asked Unato darkly.

"What did you expect?" Masterman snarked. "Xenophobia is their stock-in-trade. They think that if they can present a credible outside enemy, then public opinion will pull the Earth Alliance back together. The PLANTs are convenient, but a spacenoid nation is good too, and the fact that Durandal got his foot behind the door makes it even more credible."

"The Earth Alliance is dead, ambassador," Unato replied coldly. "And your superiors are sublimely deluded if they think they can save it by the means you describe."

"Of _course _they're deluded!" the ambassador growled. "They're politicians! But that won't stop them trying!"

"And of course, it leads to another problem." Unato turned away from the ambassador and strolled casually over to the window. "The Atlantic Federation has a friend in House Seiran, but it will be impossible for Orb to cooperate with an Atlantic Federation under the control of Blue Cosmos. Mark my words, ambassador, we will not disenfranchise, expel, or in any way mistreat our Coordinator citizens just because some of your people find their existence objectionable." He turned his steely gaze upon Masterman. "Nothing the Atlantic Federation could offer would make up for their loss to our economy and national security."

"We are _not _controlled by Blue Cosmos," Masterman almost spat back. "And we are _not _making any demands with regard to Coordinators who are Orb citizens."

"Not yet maybe." Unato turned back to the window, looking out over the bay. "But as you said, feelings in the Atlantic Federation are running high. There are suspicions as to who was behind the would-be drop of Junius Seven, and rumours of certain pictures that can answer the question." Unato glanced back at the ambassador, and cocked an eyebrow. "Can you tell me anything about this, ambassador?"

"We don't have the pictures," Masterman replied. "Djibril has them, and he's not sharing."

"I see." Unato narrowed his eyes, focussing his mind to take in every detail of the ambassador's face and body language. "This is the Djibril character we've been hearing rumours about?"

"You probably know as much was we do." Masterman looked just a _little _nervous. "The man's a recluse. No one seems to know anything about his past or his personal life. He's got his fingers in so many pies that we can't make sense of what he can or might do. About the only things we know for sure is that he's currently a Logos member, and if he is who we think he is, then he and Muruta Azrael were bunkies at Valmont."

"All very interesting. But I've been in politics long enough to know that it's not for recluses. I fail to see how such a man could challenge Azrael, even with access to sensitive information."

"He never does anything directly," Masterman went on. "He mostly works through agents, and through a clique known as the Exemplars."

"I see." The name rang a bell, though Unato could not quite place it. "Some very capable people I understand."

"That's putting it mildly. They're some of the best-educated and innately talented people we've ever seen barring Coordinators. They already occupy a number of high-level positions in the government and OMNI."

"A mutually profitable arrangement." Unato paused. "To be honest with you ambassador, I think this fiasco was nothing more than a ploy by either Azrael or Djibril to put your president in an impossible position. If he doesn't apologise, the world will believe that he ordered the whole thing and his credibility will be gone. If he _does_ apologise, Blue Cosmos spins it as weakness and he drops ten points in the polls." He glanced at Masterman again. "Does that ring true with you, ambassador?"

"It does," Masterman replied, regaining a little of his composure. "And in turn I'll be honest with you Prime Minister. It's not just a question of domestic politics. OMNI seems to think that you're planning some sort of deal with the Jovians to get your hands on their technology."

"I see no reason to deny it." Had he been certain the ambassador would not see it, Unato would have grinned. "But that's hardly illegal now, is it?"

"OMNI have gotten it into their heads," Masterman went on, "that the Jovian mobile suits are nuclear powered _as standard_." One thin eyebrow went up just slightly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I'm afraid not, ambassador." Unato's inner self roared with laughter, remembering everything Cagalli had told him after her return. "I don't really feel qualified to judge. I never was a soldier."

"Very well." Unato could not tell if Masterman believed him or not, and it did not matter. "But you must see the position this puts us in. The apology demanded by your Chief Representative could make things very difficult."

"In which case," Unato allowed him a thin smile. "I may be able to help you. If your President will see fit to provide the letter of apology, I can convince the Jovians to keep the whole thing quiet."

"You're certain?" Unato saw the flicker of hope in Masterman's eyes.

"I guarantee it, ambassador."

* * *

_**West coast, Onamuji Island, Orb Union. **_

As Athrun pulled to a halt on the verge of the coast road, they were already charging up the embankment towards him. Even as he shut the door of his black convertible, a babbling, shrieking crowd of children was clustering around his legs.

"Athrun!"

"No! Call him Alex!"

"Where'd you go?"

"Where's Cagalli?"

Athrun smiled down at the children, none of whom was taller than his waist. The warmth he felt matched the warmth of the evening sun.

"Athrun." He looked up at the sound of his old friend's voice. Kira and Lacus, along with a young boy he recognized as Prayer Reverie, had followed their young charges up the grassy embankment from the beach.

"It's been a while, Athrun," Lacus added. She seemed remarkably serene, or so Athrun thought, considering what had happened.

"How are you guys?" He stepped forward. "I heard your house got washed away. Is everyone all right?"

"Yeah our house is gone!" interjected one of the children. "We didn't see it, but a big wave came and smashed it!"

"All our toys are gone too!

"We have to stay here till they build as a new one!"  
"Oh my!" Lacus said, half-giggling. "Settle down everybody! I don't think we're going to get a word in!" It took a moment for Lacus and Prayer to marshal the children and lead them back down to the beach, leaving Kira and Athrun alone.

"So, where is Cagalli?" Kira asked. Tori flapped down, taking its accustomed place on his shoulder. Shaped like a bird, its body green and wings a bright yellow, the little robopet was a reminder of happier times.

"She's got a lot to deal with right now," Athrun replied, smiling. "She's got the Jovians set up in the guest compound, and there's a lot to do besides."

"You go on, Kira!" Lacus called from the waters' edge, waving. "We'll catch up!" Kira glanced at Athrun, and understood his intent.

They sat in silence as they raced along the coast road, the setting sun to their left. Athrun stared straight ahead, his green eyes fixed on the road. Kira glanced at his old friend, wondering at what he saw in those eyes, and what could be haunting him so.

"They'll know before long," Athrun said after a while.

"Hmm."

"Why have you forgotten the sorrow of the lives thrown away here?" Athrun recited, the words bitter on his tongue. "You're living in a damned dream world, laughing with those who caused this." Kira stared at him, bewildered.

"You were at Junius Seven?"

"Yes." There was an awkward silence.

"Colonel Kisaka tells me you fought them, " Athrun went on. "The guys who attacked you."

"Yes," Kira replied mildly. "I did."

"Are you okay?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" There was just a hint of accusation, of resentment, in Kira's tone. It was enough to make Athrun glance at him in surprise.

"I…"

"It's okay, really," Kira interjected. "I mean, it's not as if I had a choice." He looked up at Athrun again. "Any news on who they were?"

"Not a whole lot, unfortunately," Athrun replied. "The bodies we were able to identify were Naturals, but they didn't show up in any official records. The mobile suits were black market repair jobs like you thought, but we could only trace them as far as an independent junk dealership operating out of Taiwan, one of those _no questions asked _outfits. I'm sorry Kira, the trail's gone cold for now."

"Don't worry about it." To Athrun's relief, Kira did not seem to hold the failure against him.

As they approached the clifftop house, Athrun could see the plastic sheets covering part of the cliff, concealing the scars of the battle. Athrun stopped in the car park, overlooking the sea.

"I went to Junius Seven to help with the demolition," Athrun went on. "They were there."

"Zalaites?"

"Yes." Athrun paused again, the enormity of it robbing him of his voice. "I knew I'd have to deal with them someday but…" He trailed off, fighting down the lump in his throat. Kira didn't know what to say.

"So," he said, changing the subject. "You met the Jovians?"

"Oh?" Athrun was momentarily surprised, then his mood lightened a little. "Yes."

"What're they like?"

"Well…" Athrun paused, choosing his words. "They're…different."

"That's all?" Kira scoffed, almost laughing. "You saw how people reacted when they landed."

Athrun had seen, for he had been there. He remembered the heaving crowds at the spaceport, the roar as the Jovian shuttle had landed, rising until it felt like his eardrums would burst. When the massed bands had started the Jovian national anthem, an extract from Holst's _Jupiter_, he could barely hear it for the noise. He had seen nothing like it since Cagalli was sworn in as Chief Representative.

"I noticed that Prince Daniel seemed especially popular," he said, allowing himself to smile. Kira chuckled.

"So what's he like?"

"The Prince?" Athrun paused a moment. "He seemed…sincere. They all did. I think they really just wanted to make contact."

"Lacus and I were talking about it," Kira replied. "We were hoping that the Jovians coming by would calm things down." He looked Athrun in the eye. "Will it?"

"I…" Athrun faltered. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"They thought it was us," he said eventually. "They thought we were dropping Junius Seven. They backed off but…" He trailed off.

"Kira, do you remember what I asked you here in Orb, during the battle?" Kira looked up.

"You asked me, what is it that we're supposed to be fighting against? You said we'd look for the answer together."

Kira remembered. It had been during the Battle of Orb, on the eve of the first day. He remembered how he, Athrun, and Athrun's old comrade Dearka Elsman, had fought against the OMNI task force besieging the country, along with so many others. Thanks to Lacus he had found true certainty, a purpose in life worth pursuing. But whereas that certainty had brought Kira to Orb in time for the battle, Athrun had been summoned by doubt. Those same doubts had turned him against ZAFT, which he had served with devotion since the death of his mother at Junius Seven, and against his own father.

"I…still don't have an answer," Athrun said, his voice hoarse. Kira put a hand on his shoulder, hurt by the pain in his oldest and dearest friend's eyes.

"I'm afraid, Kira." His voice was barely audible. "You don't know…you don't know what I've seen…what I've heard…" He trailed off again, unable to say it.

"They'll blame us, Kira," he went on. "They'll blame the PLANTs, and Orb. They'll blame us, to make people angry, to make them want war. They start one war…to prevent another. It's happening, Kira."

Kira felt helpless. He felt _useless_. But all the same there was nothing he could do. Nothing but comfort his friend, at least.

"Will you stay tonight?" he asked. "Lacus would like that."

"No." Athrun seemed to find a little of his strength. "Thank you, Kira, but I have to get back. There's too much to do."

"I know." Kira squeezed his shoulder. "Have faith in Cagalli. If anyone can stop this war, she can."

"I know," Athrun agreed. "The thing is, I'm not sure I can do anything here. The Seirens are getting…pushy, if you know what I mean."

"Yes," Kira's countenance darkened. "It doesn't surprise me."

It would surprise few in Orb, especially among the better-informed. The ruling houses of Orb were forever competing and contesting amongst themselves, jockeying for power, wealth, and influence. Aside from the rule of law, at least in theory, the one limiting factor had always been the post of Chief Representative, which had always been held by House Athha. The arrangement had been deliberate, and reflected the political mores that were commonplace at the time of the country's founding. By separating its selection from the political process, it was reasoned, the post of Chief Representative would be able to balance both the other noble houses and the elected legislature.

For the most part it worked well enough. But the Earth Alliance invasion had subjected Orb to a situation not many political systems could hope to withstand. The upper echelons of the government had been wiped out, including Cagalli's father and uncles. As a result, not only was Cagalli the Chief Representative, but the head and sole heir of House Athha. Orb's political bulwark had been undermined, perhaps catastrophically. House Seiren had risen in the aftermath, with Unato Ema Seiren wrangling for himself the position of Prime Minister in the interim administration, and installing many of his relatives and dependants in positions of responsibility throughout Orb's government, civil service, and armed forces.

Everyone knew it was happening. Hardly a day went by without some new development on the news, or in the papers. But for the average Orb citizen, so long as it didn't directly impact their lives, it was nothing more than a daily curiosity.

"To be honest, Kira," Athrun went on. "I'm thinking of returning to the PLANTs."

"You are?" _That _took Kira by surprise. "But didn't they…?"

"They did. But I can't shake the feeling that Durandal's at the centre of this. If I'm to find out anything useful, I have to go back there."

"But…what about Cagalli?" he asked, trying to look Athrun in the eyes. "Is it okay to leave her alone like that?"

"I'm no help to her here!" Athrun almost snarled. "I can't do anything with those Seirens sniffing around. Besides…" He trailed off, and Kira could have sworn he was fighting back tears. "I can't demand their acceptance, or their respect. Not after what I did."

Kira decided against saying anything.

* * *

_**New York, Atlantic Federation, October 11th CE 73**_

The Atlantic Federation's Federal Legislature building was an impressive sight, both inside and out.

Built on the site of the former UN building, that organisation having moved its functions to the ill-fated that organisation having moved its functions to the ill-fated _Yggdrasil_ space station, it was intended as a symbol of the Atlantic Federation's prestige, and the role it intended to take in the world. The main building was broadly similar in appearance to its forebear, save that it was considerably larger. The idea had been, as far as possible, to handle as many of the Federation's myriad supranational functions within one building.

The main assembly hall was the single largest chamber in the whole complex. It was arranged in a hemicycle pattern, the seats radiating out away from the speaker's podium like rays of sunlight and subdivided by nationality.

From one of the many private meeting rooms that surrounded the chamber, Joseph Copeland could see everything that was going on. Below, delegates were already filing in, taking their seats and conversing in pairs or in small groups.

The British section was noticeably empty.

The President of the Atlantic Federation sighed. It was an unwanted but inescapable reminder of the crisis that was unfolding even then. If the approaching sitting went the way he thought it would, it was about to get a lot worse.

"So," he said, turning to face the small gathering who shared the room with him. "It has come to this."

None of them replied. Joseph scanned his eyes over them, the few whom he could trust not to betray him. General Simon Cohen and Admiral Harold Duval of OMNI, his eyes and ears within that organisation. Jonas Wright, his Senior Advisor. Elaine Reumann, from the Department of the Interior. Ryan Hammond, from the Diplomatic Corps.

"Yes, mister president," Cohen replied laconically. "It has."

"The FSA will put its report before the legislature," Joseph went on. "And then Azrael will present his motion, and the legislature will pass it." His square jaw set in anger. "This is what I think they call a runaway freight train."

"Hard to see how it would go any other way," Wright added. "If the FSA has the proof it claims to have."

"It doesn't surprise me that Eurasia would interfere," Joseph complained. "But ZAFT and Orb too?!"  
"Orb is denying everything," Hammond interjected, a little too quickly. "But the FSA claims that ZAFT citizens are passing through Orb on the way to Britain, and that Orb citizens are doing the same."

"But _why_?!" Joseph pleaded. "What does Durandal think he'll gain by this?! It's as if he _wants _a war!"

"Isn't it just possible that he does?" Wright mused darkly. "ZAFT's about the only one who'll gain anything from it. And even if Athha of Orb's ranting about space junk is true, it's not half as problematic for them as it is for us."

"Not with their agricultural PLANTs up and running, leastwise," Duval added.

"And what of Athha?" The President rounded on Hammond. "What's in it for that little psychopath?"

"I seriously doubt the Orb government has any official part in this, mister President. Chief Representative Athha might not even know of it herself." He paused, choosing his words. "Mister President, if these people want to involve themselves, they're not exactly going to put it on the Visa application."

"I know that!" Joseph snapped, irritated. "But you _know _how Blue Cosmos is spinning this! Between them and OMNI," he glowered at Cohen and Duval, "they're making it to be some kind of interplanetary conspiracy against us! And as for that little display in Orb…!" He paused, watching the collective wince as it passed over those present.

"Mister President." Hammond looked and sounded ashamed. "I have no excuse."  
"No, you don't," Joseph replied sourly. "You have no excuse for why my selections for the diplomatic mission were flagrantly ignored. You have no excuse as to why they were replaced with a pack of Blue Cosmos plants who made us look like a nation of paranoid assholes."

"Mister President," Hammond looked miserable. "Things…happen, sir."

"Yes, they do." Joseph sighed. To be fair to Hammond he knew well enough what those things were. It would have been relatively easy for the Azrael faction, for it must have been they, to slip their patsies into the diplomatic team. He wasn't sure how they had gotten their people onto the lineup for the actual meeting, but he had enough experience of backroom skulduggery to know that there were ways.

"_Damn it George,_" he thought bitterly. "_Why'd you have to go and die? I need you here!_"  
The loss of Undersecretary George Allster had been keenly felt in the upper echelons of Atlantic Federation high society and government. He had been an esteemed colleague to many, a friend to some, and the head of a fine old family. The death of his daughter, Flay Allster, at the battle of Jachin Due had left the family extinct.

More importantly than all of that, George Allster had worked hard over many years to improve relations between the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia, as well as between north America and the British Isles. He had been a strong moderating influence, one of few whom all sides respected and trusted.

But upon hearing that his beloved daughter had survived the collapse of Heliopolis colony and was aboard the experimental warship _Archangel_, George had insisted on going out there to meet her. Going out into space in a small flotilla, in a time when entire fleets could not move with any safety. And as if his luck had not completely run out, the ZAFT task force pursuing the _Archangel _just happened to include the infamous ace Rau le Creuset and his elite team.

After that, things had gradually fallen apart. Without George Allster, without his charm and sincerity, and the network of personal relationships he had built up within the north American and British elites, holding the Atlantic Federation together had become progressively harder and harder.

"It's obvious to me," he said, addressing them all, "that Azrael and Blue Cosmos want war. They want it, because they think that defeating Eurasia will bring them to heel. The immediate question is," he turned to Cohen and Duval, "will it? Can we beat them?"

"In terms of planetary forces," Duval replied, "we are approximately an even match for them. If we can keep the East-Asian Republic onside, then that gives us a substantial advantage both numerically and geographically. The South African Union will also be important for maintaining control in the western hemisphere, and for supporting a strike into western Europe. Our best chance of a swift victory lies in invading Eurasia from multiple vectors, as well as cutting them off from their orbital assets. Our space forces consist of over six hundred warships in eight orbital fleets, while the Eurasians are currently limited to their Artemis complement."

"Aside from Project Laurium, you mean," Joseph pressed. "I don't suppose you have any information on that?"

"None, mister President, save that they're being built somewhere in Side-3, based on the number of cargo ships moving in and out."

"What you say gives me hope," Joseph said. "It may be possible to force Eurasia to the negotiating table without resort to nuclear weapons. But what if ZAFT were to become involved after all?" He cocked an eyebrow. Duval cleared his throat.

"OMNI has a plan lined up for just such an eventuality." His tone was deadly serious. "It is for a minimum force of two orbital fleets to launch a full-scale attack on the PLANTs with nuclear weapons." The room went as a quiet as a tomb.

"A nuclear strike on the PLANTs," Joseph repeated, his eyes hard. "_That_'s their plan?"

"Yes sir."

"Admiral," Joseph's tone was cold, "OMNI is asking me to sanction genocide."

"That's not entirely true sir. The point of the attack will be to destroy their military and industrial modules, not to destroy the PLANTs themselves or kill their populations."

"Oh?" Reumann spoke up, feigning surprise. "That would be news to the people of Junius Seven."

"Junius Seven was a special case," the admiral replied. "The most efficient way to destroy a PLANT is to shatter its central pylon at the mid-point, thus causing the structure to fly apart under its own g-forces. No nuclear detonation in space has shown an effective blast radius of more than one kilometre, and in any case the strike on Junius Seven was a direct hit."

"Your point, admiral?" Joseph asked, somewhat tersely.

"My point, mister President, is that the officers and crew of the _Roosevelt _knew what they were doing. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to accidentally score a hit on the central module. Also, destroying the military and industrial modules would leave the PLANTs incapable of prosecuting a war. The majority of their shipyards _are _in separate modules, after all."

"That's a nice theory," Jonas Wright interjected sourly. "Except you forgot about certain among your colleagues, including those in charge of aiming the missiles. I wonder how many of them will _accidentally_ find their way to the central modules." Duval gave Wright the sort of look he normally reserved for young ensigns who spilled his coffee.

"Mister President, there will be violence no matter what happens," Cohen spoke up. "All we can do is ensure this matter is concluded before things get out of hand. If the PLANTs are knocked out of the war quickly, Eurasia will be forced to the negotiation table, at which point all our other problems can be resolved."

"You can't guarantee that!" Wright snapped. "If your alpha strike goes wrong, we'll have used nuclear weapons without provocation! There would be no legal or moral reason for ZAFT not to retaliate in kind!"

"What alternative do you suggest, _Chief Advisor_?" Cohen almost spat the title. "If we don't even try, we face a war that could drag on for years. We lost over ten million of our citizens the last time. How many are you willing to sacrifice for your high-minded principles _this _time?"

"And how many are _you _willing to sacrifice," Wright snarled back, "chasing after a shadow?"

Joseph Copeland turned away from the argument to gaze bitterly over the meeting chamber. Though he didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, it looked as though war would be inevitable. The people would demand it.

He tried not to think about the picture on his desk back in the White House. The picture of a young man in a gleaming white uniform, with a bright, confident smile.

He would never see that smile again.

* * *

_**Diplomatic Guest Compound, Orb Union, October 12th CE 73**_

It was a beautiful morning.

The past days had been hard on Daniel, as it had been for all of them. An endless round of meetings, dealing with one pack of representatives after another. The conversations had been much the same, with exchanges of pleasantries, deliveries of messages and small gifts, discussions of trade or cultural exchange possibilities. The diplomatic teams had been a colourful bunch, so diverse as to make him wonder at how they all lived on the same planet.

On top of all that, Daniel had felt it only proper to reply to the various congratulatory and welcome messages. Only that morning he had finished his reply to a letter from the Pope, who had taken time out of leading _Te Deum _masses in St Peter's to write to him. There had been letters from various Heads of State, both elected and hereditary, and any number of movers and shakers from all across the Earth Sphere. Some had even been composed by classes of schoolchildren, the bottoms covered in scrawled signatures.

Daniel had only been walking for a few minutes, but already he was glad of it. The guest compound's gardens were as pleasant a place as one could wish to find, even without the gentle warmth of the sun on his face, and just enough breeze to keep him from overheating.

Orb was indeed a paradise. So much so, that he could even bring himself to forget the fiasco of the previous day.

As he approached a cluster of trees, his bliss was disturbed by a flash of cold. Daniel came up short, wondering for a moment what had caused it. The weather had not changed, and his body was as warm as it had been before.

Then he remembered what that particular sensation meant.

His attention was drawn to the trees, and in that moment he heard what might have been raised voices in the distance. Was someone in there?

Curiosity drew him closer, the vague sounds gradually forming into recognizable words. There were two of them, he soon realised, one male and one female, and they seemed to be having a fairly heated argument. Moving as quietly as he could, Daniel eased himself against one of the trees and peered around it.

In the clearing beyond was Cagalli, face twisted in anger and frustration. The object of her wrath was a tall man in what might have been his late forties, with an oblong face and very short brown hair greying at the temples. His jacket was open, and his collar unbuttoned.

"Frankly, _Chief Representative, _I fail to see what the issue is." His voice was husky, and his manner sarcastic. "What we do is hardly any concern of Orb's. Your father made that clear umpteen times."

"The _issue_" Cagalli snapped back, "is that launching your secession now will spark off a war between Eurasia and the Atlantic Federation! Do I have to spell out how utterly _irresponsible_ your government is being?!"  
"As I said before," the man replied, unimpressed by her volcanic fury. "The inability of the Atlantic Federation to play fair is hardly our fault." Cagalli seemed to restrain herself.

"Lord Sinclair, I am _not _asking your government to call the whole thing off," she said, with exaggerated patience. "All I'm asking for is three more weeks. I _don't _think that's unreasonable."

"Unreasonable? Oh not at all." There was a sneering edge to Sinclair's tone. "If you could possibly persuade the Atlantic Federation to hold off for three more weeks also, then we'd be happy to accommodate you."  
"I…!" Cagalli came up short. "The Atlantic Federation isn't just going to attack! They've as much to lose from a war as anyone else!"

"I'm afraid it's going to take a little more than empty reassurances," Sinclair sneered. "My government is determined to go ahead with the secession, and OMNI is already gathering forces at Iceland. The longer we wait, the harder it will get. If you want us to sacrifice even more precious time than we have already, I suggest you come up with something substantial."

"How can you say that?!" Cagalli shrieked. "Don't you understand what could happen?! Don't you _care_?! Don't _any _of you care?!" Sinclair stared at her for a moment, then laughed ruefully.

"That sort of rhetoric isn't going to cut any ice, Chief Representative. The world didn't lift a finger to help us sixty years ago."

"That's not true and you know it!" Cagalli snapped. "My grandfather opposed the declaration in the UN! He presented an alternative plan! Doesn't that count for anything?! Or did your people throw away their honour as well as their pride?!"

"Talk of pride and honour shows how little you understand us," Sinclair replied tersely. "Either provide something substantial or we have nothing to talk about."

Cagalli stood with clenched fists, her eyes squeezed shut. It was not the most edifying of sights, but Daniel couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"Somehow, I thought not." Sinclair turned on his heel and stalked off.

"I'll give you Orb's fleet!" Sinclair paused, then half-turned to glance at Cagalli, who stared back at him with desperate eyes. "Three weeks, for Orb's fleet!" Silence followed.

"Forgive me for being pedantic," Sinclair said, somewhat cautiously. "But wouldn't that be a tad…controversial?"

"Yes, I know!" Cagalli snapped. "All I want to know is whether that would be enough! Will it convince your government to wait?" Sinclair eyed her appraisingly.

"It would," he said, cautiously. "The problem is whether your government will allow it."

"Leave to that to me!" Cagalli insisted. "Just tell them!"

As Sinclair stalked off, Daniel stood where he was, staring at Cagalli. Despair and frustration hovered around her, like nothing Daniel had felt since he left Jupiter two years earlier. Curiosity, and more than a little sympathy, overcame his reticence, and he stepped out from behind the tree to approach her.

"What?!" Cagalli barked, jumping in surprise as he drew near. "What're you…?!" Daniel halted, stunned and embarrassed. For what seemed like forever, Prince and Chief Representative stared at one-another in silent bewilderment.

"I…I'm sorry," Cagalli said wearily. "I didn't mean to snap I…you just took me by surprise."

Daniel regarded her for a moment. She was almost his height, and while she the appearance of a beautiful young woman, he had sensed a harsh strength behind it. In trying to rule her country at so young an age, he knew she would need it.

"I'm the one who should apologise," he replied bashfully. "I should not have been eavesdropping, but…I could hear you from the path."

"Damn it!" Cagalli hissed, tensing up with frustration. "I mean..." She seemed to deflate.

"I guess it's pointless to get angry about it," she said, resignedly. "So, how much did you hear?" Daniel quickly recounted what he had heard of her argument with Lord Sinclair.

"Might I ask who that was?" he asked.

"That was Lord Geoffrey Sinclair," Cagalli replied, without enthusiasm. "Officially he's a member of the Atlantic Federation's diplomatic corps, but he's also a secret representative of the secessionist movement within the British government."

"I see." Daniel paused a moment. "I take it then that the Atlantic Federation delegation was correct. You _do _mean to support the secession."

"Yes." Cagalli looked him in the eyes, and Daniel had to resist a sudden urge to look away. "Got a problem with that?"

"I'm really in no position to comment," Daniel replied, taken aback. "I don't really understand what's going on." Cagalli kept up her stare for a few seconds more.

"Will you walk with me?" she asked. Mildly surprised, but all the more curious, Daniel nodded, and fell in beside her as they returned to the path.

"The long and the short of it," she said as they walked together, "is that the British government wants to take their country out of the Atlantic Federation, almost certainly with a view to joining the Eurasian Federation instead."

"I understand that they are strategic rivals," Daniel commented. "Is this the cause of the tensions between them?"

"Not really, though it's making things a lot worse." Cagalli sighed. "Those two have been rivals ever since the end of the Reconstruction Wars. Trade, space expansion, military power, ideology, you name it. They were still able to fight together as part of the Earth Alliance, but that's where things started going wrong."

"The Eurasian ambassador mentioned a betrayal at Joshua. He seemed quite vehement about it."

"I'm not surprised. It was a bad business." Cagalli paused, assembling the details in her mind. "Josh-A was the Earth Alliance's primary command and production facility located in Alaska. During the last war, the ZAFT forces launched an all-out attack against it." She paused again, and Daniel sensed a surge of anger and disgust.

"It was a trap. The Atlantic Federation had withdrawn its own forces under the guise of reinforcing their Panama base, leaving over a hundred thousand Eurasian troops to defend it. When the ZAFT troops were close enough, they activated an experimental microwave energy weapon they had concealed under the base." She fell silent, unwilling to say more. She did not need to.

"They were sacrificed," Daniel said gravely.

"OMNI did their best to keep it a secret," Cagalli went on, her tone increasingly bitter. "But the story somehow got out a few months ago." She did not say all she might have said. She did not voice her suspicion as to _who_ had leaked the deadly secret to the press. "Relations between them have been deteriorating ever since."

"I see," Daniel answered. "But why would the British choose this moment to secede?" Cagalli gave what sounded like a hiss.

"It's…complicated," she said unhappily. "The short version is that the British had some big industrial orders from Eurasia and the African Community, but the Atlantic Federation blocked them. Their government started threatening secession just after that."

"It seems drastic," Daniel commented. "Threatening to secede over a commercial dispute."

"There's more to it than that. Those orders were very important to the British. They've been reliant on arms sales for decades, so this was supposed to be a fresh start. To some of them, it must have seemed like one betrayal too many."

"Betrayal?" Daniel was intrigued.

"The British didn't join the Atlantic Federation under the best of circumstances," Cagalli explained. "The failure of the Darien project left them hopelessly in debt, and because they owned the biggest proportion of the debt, the UN empowered the Atlantic Federation to act as the bailiffs. The whole country was asset-stripped, and their economy was reorganised around paying off the debt."

"I see," Daniel mused. "That cannot have gone well for them."

"Believe me, it didn't," Cagalli replied harshly. "As a people they became completely ruthless, willing to do anything to make money. Making weapons, renting out their military as mercenaries, even illicit research. Britain became the kind of country where you could buy just about anything, or have anything made to order, even human life." Daniel started at the latter, but could not bring himself to speak.

"According to our analysis," Cagalli went on. "Around ten per cent of the first generation Coordinators still alive today were made in British gene-labs, for money up-front and no questions asked."

"And you wish to help such people?" The question brought Cagalli up short.

"I don't like a lot of the things they've done," she replied. "But I know why it happened, and in Orb we know that the world is rarely kind to small countries. Besides that, Britain's membership in the Atlantic Federation is a major bone of contention with Eurasia. If Britain were to secede, one of the main causes of conflict would be removed." Cagalli halted suddenly, her eyes cast in shadow.

"If there's a war, it'll be the end for us," she whispered, clenching her fists. "A war between the superpowers, a war in space, among the colonies. Even if we don't all die, human civilization could be destroyed. I keep telling them, but…"

Daniel felt his heart clench at the sight.

"Chief Representative." He paused, choosing his words. "My people know the horrors of space warfare well. Is there anything I can do to help?" Cagalli looked up at him, surprise crossing her face for a moment.

"It's a terrible thing to ask," she replied, looking him in the eyes. "But I need to deter the Atlantic Federation from intervening when the secession begins. I would need you to issue a joint statement with Orb in support of the secession…and to use force if need be." Daniel stared back at her for a few moments, trying to read the soul that lay behind those golden eyes.

"What you ask is…difficult," he replied, trying hard to keep the uncertainty from his tone. "In a matter like this I cannot act alone. I must put this to my father and the Parliament. It would be…a declaration of war."

"I understand," Cagalli assured, a smile emerging through her pain. "But if this is to work I'll need all the help I can get. Durandal won't…" she paused a moment, then regained her stride. "But the _Jovian Dawn _could make all the difference!"

"I promise, Chief Representative," Daniel heard himself say. "I will put the matter to my father."

"Please," Cagalli said, her smile widening. "Call me Cagalli."

Daniel felt sick inside, for he could not shake the feeling that he had made a promise. A promise he might not be able to keep.

* * *

_**Junk Guild vessel 'ReHOME', Debris Belt**_

"So, _Captain,_" Lowe Gear drawled, lounging in his seat. "Are you gonna talk?"

Before him was a hologram, currently serving as the avatar of a human personality stored in the _ReHOME_'s databank. It was a tall, lean human male, with wavy blond hair and a face made for a look of angelic innocence. It represented one of the greatest men in human history as a young man, the man whose memories resided within the databank.

Said face was currently looking very uncomfortable. The body was naked but for a pair of embarrassingly conventional y-fronts, and encircled many times with absurdly large and heavy-looking chains, complete with iron ball weights, like something out of one of those twentieth-century cartoons. The hologram wasn't going anywhere.

"I…don't know what you're talking about," the hologram insisted, trying to appear nonplussed.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," Lowe pressed, grinning nastily. "You made a little oversight when you came back from Jupiter, _Captain_."  
"I don't know what you mean!"

"The Jovians, Captain," Lowe sneered. "Tell me about the Jovians, or it'll be the worse for you."

"Worse for me?" The hologram shot him a smile. "In case you forgot, I'm a hologram. There aren't many ways you can torture a hologram."  
"Funny you should say that." Lowe's smile widened. "I gave that problem some thought, and here's what I came up with." He tapped at his keyboard, and the hologram began to shimmer below the neck.

"How's about _that_!" Lowe proclaimed triumphantly, as the image reformed itself. "The D-cup maid!"

"Wha…?!" The hologram looked down at his body in utter horror. Below the neck, it had been replaced with a particularly voluptuous female figure, clad in a fanservice maid outfit that left little or nothing to the imagination. Lowe sniggered at his prisoner's discomfort, proud of how realistically the breasts jiggled. A fine piece of programming if he said so himself.

"Gonna talk to me now, George?" he asked. "Now that you know what I can program?"

"I…I'll never tell!" yelled George. "You can't make me!"

"Oh can't I?" Lowe pressed the enter key, and George gave a cry of surprise as his new busom bounced up and down with a loud _boing_.

"Hey! Stop that!" George protested, face reddening in embarrassment. "That feels really weird!"

"Confess!" Lowe yelled. "Confess that you lied about the Jovians!"

"No!"

"Confess!" Lowe pressed the key again, and the motion repeated. "Confess!"

"Never!"

"Don't think I won't go further!" Lowe keyed in another command from the same programme. "Confess!"  
"I'll never tell you anything!"

"Get a load of this!" Lowe hit Enter, and George's gloved hands reached up to grope at his unwanted busom.

"This is no way to treat your Captain!" George wailed. "This _has _to count as sexual harassment!"

"Confess!" Lowe barked, enjoying himself far too much. "Confess about the Jovians!"

"No! It's a secret!"  
"So you _do _know something! Confess!"

"I can't!"

"Confess! Confess! Confess!"

"LOWE!"

The female shriek brought Lowe out of his frenzy. The realisation that he had been disturbed, and knowing what they had seen, brought him off the adrenalin _very _hard.

"Uh…Kisato…" he babbled, as he saw Kisato Yamabuki and the Professor standing in the doorway, looking at him as if he had completely lost his mind. As usual, the Professor was wearing very little under her labcoat, and looked mildly hung-over.

"Lowe," Kisato repeated, taking in the sight. "What are you doing?"

"Well..." Lowe began, then trailed off. "You see…"

"Actually, don't tell me," Kisato held up her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I really don't want to know."

"I do," the Professor commented mildly.

"So do I," said Kazahana Adja, stepping around the scantily-clad woman to take in the sight.

"Wait! Kazahana-chan!" Kisato shrieked gesticulating frantically at the little girl. "Don't look! This isn't for kids!"

"It looks like George with a woman's body," the young genius commented dryly. "Evidently one or the other of them has perverted tastes."

"It's not like that!" protested Lowe. "I was just asking about the Jovians!"

"Well if you can tear yourself away from your little S and M session," Kisato replied sarcastically, "you can go and talk to poor Liam."

"Is he still moping?" Lowe asked, concerned.

"Yes, he is," Kisato insisted. "Now go and talk to him!" Lowe sighed and made for the hatch.

"Kisato!" George exclaimed, holographic tears of joy running down his holographic features. "My number one fan! You saved me!"

"Not really," Kisato replied, settling into Lowe's seat. "I haven't had my turn yet."

"But…!"

"No buts!" Kisato grinned a very disconcerting grin. "This is payback for shattering my dreams! You're not my George Glenn, you faithless deceiver!"

"No! Wait!"

"Confess!"

As he floated along the corridor, Lowe sighed at the howls and shrieks of hysterical laugher emanating from the cabin behind him.

It did not take him long to find his old friend. Liam Garfield was gazing out of a corridor viewport, his long hair drifting in the zero gravity, his face even more melancholy than usual. Lowe sighed, and launched himself over to float beside him. Liam did not acknowledge his presence, but continued to stare out of the viewport. As he drew alongside, Lowe followed his line of sight, and remembered the planetary alignment for the day.

"Jupiter, huh," he commented, hoping to elicit a reaction. The taciturn Coordinator did not reply.

"Look, Liam…" He trailed off, wondering what exactly to say. Liam had been like that ever since the Junius Seven incident a few days earlier. Lowe had thought he was just annoyed over that Adukarf woman preventing them from helping with the demolition, but there seemed little reason for it. Everything had turned out all right, when that humungous ship had shown up and blasted the asteroid to shrapnel.

Okay, people had still been killed, but it was nothing like what it might have been. Lowe would have thought Liam could find it in himself to loosen up over something like that.

At least, until they found out where the _Jovian Dawn _had come from.

"Liam, I'm sure your brother and the others are okay," he said, focussing on what he reckoned was the real reason for his friend's sombre mood. "I mean, it's a friggin' O'Neill cylinder! You and I worked on enough of them! Those things are practically indestructible!"

"It's not that."  
"Well…" Lowe thought a moment. "We knew it was gonna take them a while to get there. I doubt they've even reached the asteroid belt. The Jovians might not've seen them."

"It's not that either."

"Then what is it damn it?!" Lowe snapped, on the verge of losing his temper. "You're even more depressing than usual! Just tell me!" Liam sighed.

"Shinisto wanted to create a peaceful colony," he said mournfully. "A place of peace and brotherhood, where there would be no more war. He hated this world so much that he ran from it, no matter what the risk."  
"Yeah, so?" Lowe would not soon forget that little adventure, one of their most hair-raising yet infinitely satisfying. Shinisto Garfield, who unlike his brother was an unmodified Natural, had been the leader of the neutral Liteira colony. Rather than endure the Bloody Valentine war a moment longer, he and his followers had rigged the colony with a nuclear pulse engine powerful enough to launch it out of Earth's gravity and towards Jupiter, where they believed they could live together in peace. Lowe was proud of his role in the fulfilment of that dream, and he had always thought that Liam felt the same way, having apparently made up with his long-lost brother before they left.

"And then what do we find?" Liam went on, his tone growing bitter. "There's actually people already living there. A whole civilization of people, who've been there for over a century. A civilization full of war, and pain." He lowered his head.

"What about his dream, Lowe?" he asked, rhetorically. "What about their hopes? What will become of them now?"

"Well…" Lowe felt awkward. "They don't _seem_ to be bad people. I'm sure they'll be okay once they get there."

"You are?" Liam asked darkly. "You see, I was thinking about that guy Kellen."

Lowe groaned. He doubted he would forget what he had witnessed on Mars, in the war between the allied colonies and the followers of the so-called _Man from Beyond. _The fact that Kellen had escaped made it all the more galling, since Agnus Brahe of Australis Colony had come within an ace of taking the dictator alive.

"You think he was from Jupiter?" he asked, voicing his own suspicion.

"You have to admit," Liam replied, "it would explain a lot of things."

"But," Lowe's brow furrowed. "That doesn't mean this bunch are the same as him. Besides, if they were out to get us, they were better off letting the damn thing fall."

"That doesn't mean they aren't planning something."

Lowe shook his head. Liam really was in one of those moods.

"I'm not gonna argue logic with a Coordinator," he said with a sigh. "So instead I'll go with gut feeling. I _really _don't think these Jovians are bad people." He shot Liam a trademark grin. The Coordinator sighed.

"Naturals are illogical."

"And you're a gloomy guy."

* * *

_**Athha Mansion, Onamuji Island, Orb Union**_

The Orb Defence Forces _Heli _gunship settled on the grass in front of the Athha mansion, kicking up a blustering wind as its turbine engines slowed to a halt.

Athrun was not entirely sure how the gunship had acquired the name, as it wasn't a helicopter at all. Using twin articulated turbines to provide lift and thrust, it was a recent incarnation of a concept that had first appeared in the late twenty-first century, part of a wider search for alternatives to fuel-guzzling jet engines. OMNI's _Orca _gunships operated on broadly the same principal. He supposed it had been dubbed a _Heli _by force of habit, because it was sufficiently similar to a helicopter for someone accustomed to helicopters to make the connection.

But no amount of musing over aircraft design could spare him from what he was about to do.

"You're…sure you want to go?" Athrun felt his heart clench as he looked into Cagalli's eyes. It was clear that she didn't want him to go, that she was worried about what would happen to him.

"I have to," he replied, trying to sound decisive. "I can't do anything here. If there's even a chance that I can help, that I can do something in the PLANTs, then I have to go."

"I know." Cagalli did likewise, setting her face into what might have been a steely mask. "It's just that, after what Chairwoman Canarver said, you're taking a big risk." Athrun nodded grimly.

There was no point in denying it. Eileen Canarver, who had led the coup against his father during the Battle of Jachin Due, had made the situation abundantly clear. ZAFT had never come to a final decision on whether or not it wanted to prosecute him for dereliction of duty, and in the court of public opinion the matter could go either way. Cagalli's diplomatic immunity, and his status as an Orb citizen, had protected him before, but this time there was a fair chance he would be arrested the moment he stepped off the shuttle. That didn't necessarily mean he would be formally charged and tried, for Gilbert Durandal had far less to fear from ZAFT than Canarver had back then, but it could still mean days in a ZAFT prison while his jailors fought tooth and nail to keep him there.

Or else took the opportunity to do something drastic.

He thought of the little box in his pocket, and what it contained. He had bought it the day before, after meeting with Kira. It had been a way of forcing himself to go through with it, of committing himself to his chosen course.

But was there any point?

Athrun had seen how things were. He had seen the way Yuna Roma Seiren had acted around Cagalli, behaving as if he were her boyfriend, or even her husband. Cagalli had insisted that nothing was going on, but Athrun knew the truth.

It was Cagalli's servant and childhood nanny, Myrna, who had told him in the end. She had looked and sounded embarrassed, and Athrun had known the warm-hearted woman's sympathy to be sincere, but it had brought him little comfort. Cagalli had been promised to Yuna when they were children, and it looked increasingly as if Yuna meant to cash in on that promise.

So what could he, a foreigner and a Coordinator, say to that? What reason could he offer that Cagalli chose him over Yuna? Yuna was heir to a great house of Orb, a patrimony of enormous wealth and considerable influence. He was just a man, albeit a mighty one. He had nothing but the strength of his arm and the thoughts of his mind to offer.

Would the love in his heart suffice?

"I know about Yuna," he said, making her start visibly. "But I don't have to like it." His choice made, he reached into his pocket and with skilful fingers opened the box. He took Cagalli's unresisting hand, and slipped the silver ring onto her finger.

Cagalli stared down at the ring, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Athrun…I…this is…" Her face turned as red as his own, and all at once she erupted. "This is no way to give someone a ring!"

Athrun almost recoiled at the rebuke, but it was not anger or rejection he saw in her eyes. It was something far deeper, something heartfelt and terrible.

"I'm…sorry." He knew he sounded pathetic, and was probably the worst boyfriend in the solar system, but he really couldn't think of anything to say.

"Athrun…" Cagalli looked down, clutching her newly be-ringed hand. "Athrun…this is…I…promised Sinclair I would support the secession. I…don't how I'm going to…"

She trailed off as Athrun's arms enfolded her. They remained like that for what seemed like forever, neither wanting to let go. Neither wanted to end it, for they might know it again.

"Hang in there, Cagalli," Athrun whispered.

"Take care, stay in touch," Cagalli whispered back. They drew back, gazed into each-other's eyes for another moment, then shared a quick, gentle kiss.

Knowing that it was now or never, Athrun turned away and picked up his suitcase. As he strode across the grass to the waiting gunship, he fought the urge to look back, to capture her image in his mind's eye one last time. If he looked back, he might not be able to go.

Her image was there nonetheless, hovering in his mind as the gunship bore him away into the sunset.

* * *

_**Memorial Garden, Onamuji Island, Orb Union**_

The sun was going down, casting the sky in shades of yellow and purple. Along the gentle slope of the hillside, neat rows of lovingly-tended flowers stood in full bloom, drinking in what remained of the sunlight. The air was warm, the breeze as soft as a woman's caress upon his cheek.

But Shinn felt no peace in that place, no sense of closure.

He stood in the paved central area, staring at the memorial obelisk before him. All he could see was a monument to Orb's self-pity, self-righteousness, and self-delusion. A distraction, thrown up by the Athhas to allow those they ruled, those they had utterly failed, to go on deceiving themselves.

He clenched his fists as the shivering began again, feeling the comforting hardness of the pink phone in his right hand.

"_Hi, Mayu here! Sorry I can't talk right now, but please leave a message after the tone!_"

It was his talisman. It was all he had left of her, of them. With it he could comfort himself with the sound of her voice, eternally sweet and clear, preserved forever in an electronic reliquary.

Or at least until it burned out.

"_Mayu…_"

He _hated _the Athhas. Even then, even in the place, he could not stop hating them. They had brought Orb to ruin with their schemes, with their delusion that Orb could somehow stand alone in a world of superpowers. They had played their power games, trying to play both sides against the middle, and it had backfired with a vengeance.

But the Athhas were not solely to blame. The other houses were just as bad, with their own schemes and plots. And even the common people of Orb were not innocent, not exempt.

They followed the Houses. They followed the Athhas. They cheered them, voted in the elections, paid their taxes, built the weapons. They continued to follow the Athhas, in spite of their self-evident betrayal. That made them either blind dupes, or willing slaves.

Shinn wondered why he had even come. Was it because of pressure from Lunamaria? Was it because he had run out of things to do on the ship after six mind-numbing days? Was it because the Captain and Vice-Captain were giving him funny looks?

It might have been the latter. In part because of the problems with the Zalaites, ZAFT was keeping its members under closer and closer surveillance, vigilant for any sign of psychiatric disorder. The last thing Shinn needed was to have to face a ZAFT shrink.

_Again._

It had been bad enough the last time. Bad enough that he had drunk a little too much during the post-graduation booze-up, in a bar that stocked its cellars with Coordinator physiology in mind. Bad enough that he had ended up in maudlin mode and started wailing and weeping about his lost family. Bad enough that Lunamaria had held her liquor well enough to remember.

Bad enough that she had reported him to the Psychiatric unit.

Shinn would have rather died than go through that again. Hour after pointless hour with those infuriatingly patient counsellors, endlessly poking and pressuring him to open up and tell them what he was feeling, warning him that if he didn't talk to them, they might have to dismiss him from ZAFT.

It had gotten worse. The higher-ups seemed to have taken it very badly that Shinn had neglected to mention his family. Apparently, having one's parents and younger sister blasted to giblets in front of his eyes made him a psychiatric risk, even for so because he had tried to conceal it, thus indicating _issues_ as they had so politely put it. At times, it had seemed like half of the officer corps was fighting tooth and claw to have him kicked out, just because he had wanted some privacy.

Were it not for Rey, and for Gilbert Durandal, they might have succeeded. And it had been a long time before he had begun to trust Lunamaria again, even if the whole ordeal wasn't _exactly _her fault.

If the Captain decided that he was mentally or emotionally unstable, then he could forget about piloting _Impulse _or any other mobile suit again. They would probably dismiss him from ZAFT, or even throw him in an asylum, on the age-old principle of _no smoke without fire._ Better to endure a little time with Orb under his feet, and convince them that he was dealing with his problems, than to lose everything he had worked so hard to gain.

He had dressed in civilian clothes, wanting to draw as little attention as possible. A while back he had fantasized about strolling through his old neighbourhood, resplendent in his ZAFT uniform, just to see the looks on their faces. But now that the opportunity had arisen, he had not gone through with it. He really couldn't face an encounter with his old neighbours, or his old classmates, assuming any of them were still around.

There had been no sign of the Jovians either. It annoyed Shinn that they had accepted Cagalli's offer of hospitality, especially considering what she had said about their nation's history, as if Orb's past was somehow pure and untainted. At least the Jovians were being honest about it!

And yet they were now in the diplomatic compound, surrounded by Cagalli's toadies, hearing only what _she _wanted them to hear, and believing what _she _wanted them to believe.

It was sick. It was _infuriating_, because as stupid as it sounded, a part of Shinn believed he had made some kind of connection.

From the moment he first set foot on the _Jovian Dawn _to when he left, Shinn had only been anywhere near Prince Daniel on two occasions. But throughout the whole affair he had been tormented by a strange longing he couldn't quite explain. He had _wanted _to talk to Prince Daniel, as they had talked while fighting together over Junius Seven Beta only a few hours earlier. He had wanted the Prince to notice him, to acknowledge him, to pay him some attention if only for a few moments. He had felt left out, even betrayed.

It was stupid and selfish of him to feel that way, he knew. Daniel had been monopolized by Durandal and Cagalli throughout, leaving him with little or no opportunity to speak to anyone else. Besides, how was he to know to whom the voices he had heard belonged?

That was what his _reason _told him, but his heart would not be so easily mollified. It had confused, even frightened and angered him.

That is, until the very end, just as they were about to leave. _Then _the Prince had taken a few moments to shake their hands and talk with them, and it was _then _that the penny dropped.

And it was _then _that Prince Daniel had finally looked him in the eyes.

Shinn couldn't explain what had happened. He had no words for what had passed between them, for the feeling that had welled up inside him as they shook hands, exchanged salutes, and as the Prince had complimented him on his skill in battle. It shouldn't have meant anything at all, and yet for a fraction of an instant, it was as if he had looked into another world, another possibility, as if he had been touched by grace.

Only one other person had made him feel that way. At that moment he had been standing off to one side, smiling at them like a father watching his son make a friend.

Shinn could not stop a part of him from believing that something had begun there. It wasn't like the others, especially not the girls, who had spent the journey to Orb squealing and giggling about how handsome the Prince and his companions were, especially that guy Hannon. Come to think of it, he had seen the blond trying to pick up Lunamaria at one point.

It wasn't the same.

It _wasn't._

Shinn's reverie was disturbed by a fluttering sound, like that of a bird fluffing its wings. He looked to his right, suddenly curious.

There was another monument on the edge of the cliff. A short, broad slab of stone, covered in inscriptions shadowed by the setting sun in the distance. Standing in front of the stone was what appeared to be a young man of about his own age, clad in a black jacket and pants in the style currently fashionable in Orb. A green and golden bird sat on his shoulder, and Shinn could make out the metallic finish and unnaturally straight edges.

It was a robopet, almost certainly a custom model, for Shinn had never seen one like that.

Shinn turned to face the stone, and began walking slowly towards it, drawn on by a feeling he could not put into words. Mostly it was curiosity about what the stone represented, but there was something else too. Perhaps he felt some kinship with that young man, who had come alone to gaze upon the memorial. Perhaps he was in the same situation.

The young man half turned, regarding Shinn with one purple eye. Shinn faltered as he saw the look in that eye.

"Tori!" the bird chirped, taking to the air.

"Is it, a memorial?" Shinn asked, after an awkward silence.

"Yeah, looks like it," the young man replied. "But I'm not that sure myself. You see, it's the first time I've made the effort to come here." He looked back towards the stone, somewhat bashfully.

"The flowers have finally bloomed." As he spoke, Shinn saw the flowers growing either side of the stone, and the plinth upon which it was set. "Unfortunately, the breaking waves will wither them." A woman's voice carried over the sound of the waves below.

_I watched as you dreamed_

_You laughed like a child_

Shinn knew what he meant. He understood very well. He knew that a flower's fate was to bloom in brief, passing beauty, only to wither just as suddenly.

"Perhaps it's because they can't be fooled," he said. The bitterness in his tone made the young man look up in surprise. "No matter how beautiful they are, someone will come and destroy them."

"What?" The young man seemed quite taken aback.

_So dear, and yet so far_

_That is the promise of our future_

All at once a young woman of about the same age emerged from the cliff-side path below, carrying a posy of flowers. She had very long pink hair, cascading down to her waist, and wore a pale blue dress that matched her eyes. She stopped singing as she noticed Shinn, the smile falling from her face as she looked from one to the other. There was an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the waves.

"I'm sorry," Shinn said, bowing his head slightly. "I…meant nothing by it." He turned and stalked off, feeling them gazing after him, wishing he hadn't come.

* * *

_**Supreme Council building, Aprilius One PLANT, October 16th CE 73**_

It had been a long time.

Athrun supposed it was a matter of perspective. Two years might not seem like all that long to some, but to him it felt like an eternity.

Aprilius One didn't seem to have changed all that much. In fact, it was almost exactly as he remembered it when he had last been there two years earlier, as the Bloody Valentine War was nearing its climax.

It wasn't quite as bad as he feared it would be. He had spent much of the shuttle flight from Orb worrying about how he would feel when he arrived. He had seen what trauma could do to people, of the psychological blocks it could leave behind. He had spent the last hour of the flight fighting down the urge to run straight for the nearest shuttle back to Orb the moment he disembarked. His troubled mind had pictured himself collapsing, having flashbacks, writhing screaming on the floor.

It seemed so ridiculous now, sitting in an air-conditioned waiting room, awaiting his appointment with Chairman Durandal. Athrun considered himself a level-headed, perhaps even stoic individual, but even so he sometimes wondered at the strange directions his mind could take him.

It wasn't much of a distraction, but he needed to focus his racing mind on something. _Anything _that would give him some relief.

Except it wasn't working.

And just _what _was keeping the Chairman?

"I…need to go to the bathroom," he said, standing up. The attaché who had met him at the spaceport nodded in understanding. Athrun stepped out of the waiting room and into the wide atrium, glad simply to have a change of scenery. The walls and floor of the Supreme Council building were done in gleaming metallic tiles, save for a long strip of underfloor lighting running the length of the atrium. The Coordinators prided themselves on their embrace of modernity, and PLANT architecture tended to reflect that preference, especially in public or government buildings. The Supreme Council building had a professional, somewhat impersonal air to it, or so Athrun thought. There was little of the old-world charm he had found in the home Lacus had shared with her father, back when she was the beloved Songstress of Hope, and he was her fiancée, a brave soldier of ZAFT.

How distant those days seemed, almost like a dream. How different they had both been back then, or at least he had been. Back then he had believed that fighting as a ZAFT soldier was the only path open to him, the only way he could live. He had obeyed blindly, forcing himself not to question, not to doubt, even as the person he had once been haunted him in the darkness of the night.

How many had died because he had followed blindly? How many had suffered because he couldn't question the orders he received?

How many had paid the price for his cowardice?

But Lacus had been different, Athrun knew. Yet another irony of their arranged marriage was that he had never completely understood her. He had always seen her as just a pure and beautiful young girl, a dear friend for whom he would gladly have given up his life. But then she made her decision, turned her back on the society that lionized her, betraying the Coordinators in order to save them. Within her chest there beat a heart of gold, but it sat side by side with a will of iron.

Athrun began to wonder if the stress was getting to him. It was as if he could hear her voice.

He _could _hear her voice.

It was very faint, coming from the floor above. Bewildered, Athrun glanced towards a flight of stairs on the other side of the atrium, leading to the open gallery above. There was a figure standing near the top of the stairs, wearing a blue and white dress not unlike those Lacus used to wear. He could see a mane of long, _pink _hair, decorated with a large gold star above her left temple.

"L…Lacus?" The words just came out.

"Haro!" A small red Haro leapt into the air beside the young woman, flapping its 'ears' just as all his Haros did. Startled, the young woman turned to look at him, and Athrun felt his heart stop as he saw that familiar face.

Except, it _wasn't, _somehow.

"Athrun!" The face broke into a smile of girlish delight. The faux-Lacus dashed down the stairs, holding up the blue skirt with one white-gloved hand. As she reached the bottom and began racing across the atrium floor towards him, Athrun could see her more clearly.

It was Lacus, and yet, it _wasn't _Lacus. Her face was a perfect facsimile, right down to the smallest visible muscles and even her hairline. But her personality was completely different. The Lacus _he _had known rarely raised her voice, let alone behave with anything but a near-regal grace. _This _version was bounding around like an eight-year-old at a birthday party.

And…the figure.

For as long as he had known her, Lacus had always been very slim, though not unhealthily so. He couldn't say much more than that, for he had never gotten round to seeing her naked. _This _Lacus was a classic hourglass, with wide hips visible inside the flaring waist of the wide, floor-length skirt, secured to what was essentially a white and purple swimsuit only at the back.

And…those.

"Oh Athrun I'm so happy!" The girl hit him like a gust of wind, wrapping herself around him with wild abandon. Athrun almost cried out in shock as he felt her breasts jammed against his pectoral muscles. "You came all this way just to see me!"

No, she was definitely _not _Lacus. He would have known that even if had hadn't known for a fact that she was still in Orb. He knew, because Lacus was most definitely _not _built like that.

What was more, after his admittedly limited experience with Cagalli, he was fairly certain they were real.

"Oh, sorry!" The girl backed off, removing the pressure from his chest. "It's kinda sudden isn't it! But I'm just so happy to see you Athrun!"

And Lacus would _never _have worn anything like _that_. Up close the dress looked, at least to Athrun's eyes, incredibly impractical. The skirt looked as though it might fall off at any moment, and the top part had evidently been fitted around her enormous busom, and in such as fashion as to allow both breasts maximum freedom of movement.

Even then, it looked to be taking about all it could handle.

"What are…what are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting here for you to come and see me!" The false Lacus cocked her head with a giggle, and Athrun noticed that her eyes were not quite the same shade as those of the real Lacus.

"Miss Lacus," urged one of the two grey-suited men who had come running after her. "We're short on time."  
"I know, I know." She turned to face him again, still smiling. "I'm just so glad, Athrun!"

"Hey hey hey!" the red Haro interjected, bouncing up and down. "Ready! Go!"

Athrun stared after her as they walked off, still unable to make sense of what had just happened.

"Alex?" Athrun turned and saw Chairman Durandal approaching from the opposite direction. With him were three Coordinators wearing the uniform of the PLANT civil administration, consisting of long blue coats over matching trousers and green and red shirts.

"Ah yes," the Chairman said, somewhat apologetically as he halted in front of Athrun. "I'm supposed to meet with you around about now, aren't I?" Athrun did not reply, and the Chairman seemed slightly put out.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Uh, yes, I'm fine," Athrun mumbled, his mind still racing. "Sorry about that." He looked away, embarrassed, and did not see the look in the Chairman's eyes.

* * *

**I don't have much excuse to offer for the time this took, save that I've been going through a bad patch over the past few months. It's cleared for the moment though.**

**I have to say this was a very hard chapter to do. I'm sorry if all the intrigue and talk gets boring, but I had to get through it in order to set up for what's coming in the next few chapters. There's one or two points I want to clear up right now. First is the matter of Unato ema Seiran. The impression of him I got from the ASTRAY mangas was that he disliked and distrusted the Atlantic Federation despite having sided with it (he seemed particularly resentful at being ordered around by Phantom Pain). As I see it, he's essentially an isolationist who nonetheless knows that Orb can't really stand alone in a world of superpowers, each of which is considerably wealthier and more powerful than anything in recent history. However, the situation Orb faces in this scenario is very different to that of Destiny. I reckoned that even if the Seirans were close to the Atlantic Federation for economic reasons (the most likely explanation), then Unato would be taking advantage of the current situation to strengthen Orb's position, even if that means allowing the superpowers to go to war. The other is Onamuji island. The only named island of Orb was Onogoro, and since Orb seems to be based quite heavily on Japanese mythology, I decided on the name of Prince Onamuji, a descendant of Susanoo who according to one story played a role in the creation of the islands of Japan. It just seemed to work. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_What is freedom?_

_Even after millennia of human civilization and recorded thought, even after all we as a species have witnessed and experienced, still the answer eludes us. _

_Can freedom exist in this world? Can it exist in its pure form, unregulated and uncompromised? Such can be called freedom, but such can also be called anarchy. The freedom to carry a weapon is the freedom to commit murder with it. The freedom to drive a car is the freedom to crush someone under its wheels. The freedom of enterprise is the freedom to exploit others. The freedom of speech is the freedom to lie, to obfuscate, and to mislead. These freedoms exist, because unlimited freedom allows no means of prevention. To punish a deed after the fact can never undo it._

_Such freedom is a cancer, for it corrupts and destroys all it touches. It is the freedom of the gutter journalist, of the rabble-rouser, of the fat cat businessman, and the common murderer. It is the freedom that tolerates no limit, and suffers no resistance. It is the freedom that fears nothing and loves nothing. It cannot love even itself, for by the logic of its existence it is its own tyranny. If all is free, then nothing can be achieved, and nothing claimed. For one to be entirely free, another must be entirely subjugated. Such freedom is ultimately meaningless, for freedom can find meaning only when it is given up._

_Throughout human history, it has been the goal and duty of governments, and societies, to limit freedom. Some have limited it too little, others too much. To suppress freedom too much is to breed tyranny, which is the anarchy of the few. To suppress it too little is to nurture anarchy, which is the tyranny of the many. The problem is clear to all, and the solution clear to none. _

_Can freedom only exist inside our own minds? Is it only the freedom to think for ourselves, to decide for ourselves what is right and what is wrong, to choose for what we will surrender it? _

_Can freedom only be free in our hearts?_

_Gilbert Durandal_

_**Then**_

_**ZAFT Court of Military Justice, Aprilius One PLANT, May 15**__**th,**__** 72 CE**_

"All rise."

A rumble filled the chamber as its occupants stood up. The rumbling receded somewhat as the deciding council filed out of their meeting chamber and into their box to the right. The officiating officer emerged from another door, a commander in the white coat of the new system, and took his seat in the centre. On the left, the oversight committee took their seats in turn.

Unlike other Earth-sphere military organisations, ZAFT did not practice the traditional Court Martial, but rather organised its judicial system on the civilian model, with what amounted to a judge and jury. This derived mostly from ZAFT's past as a resistance organisation, made up of men and women who had taken up arms to gain their freedom, not as a career choice. They had neither intended, nor wanted, to be part of a separate military culture, and many of them had regarded such a thing as abhorrent. That ZAFT held its trials in a broadly civilian fashion was intended to show that those who volunteered to fight for the PLANTs could expect the same fairness and justice, no more, no less, than in civilian life.

It was of little comfort to Commander Yzak Joule, who along with his defence counsel, a older man by the name of Corrin Wardes, had entered the chamber only a few moments earlier.

Things had not gone as well as they might have done. They might have gone better, had he accepted the services of the high-price legal team his mother had somehow managed to put together despite being under house-arrest. Those slick, smiling creatures might indeed have been able to get him off, with their procedures and legalities, their smooth words and endless interruptions. They might have won this case for him, if he could stand their amorality, and the barely-concealed disdain of the uniform he wore and the values it represented.

He could not. He had dismissed the lot of them, making do with the officer ZAFT had selected to represent him. If he was to be condemned, he would be condemned as a soldier, not as his mother's son.

And he deserved to be condemned.

His counsel had denied it, more than once. He had allowed the poor man to put up a defence, if only because it would look bad on his record if he didn't at least try. But in Yzak's mind, and his heart, there could be no defence.

He had killed them. It didn't matter that he didn't know the shuttle was carrying refugees, as his counsel had insisted, or that they were only Naturals, as his mother had screeched. What mattered was the deed, the deed he had done, and for which he could never forgive himself.

They had come for Dearka too. They had come for all of them, the 'war criminals' of the Bloody Valentine. ZAFT was putting its house in order, and a great many heads had already rolled, some for little more than having been too openly enthusiastic about the late Chairman Zala's policies. As the son of a Supreme Council member who had been one of Zala's staunchest supporters, and who had played an active role in that last, terrible battle, Yzak could expect little different.

It didn't matter what Dearka had said, or his mother.

Or Shiho…

The officiating officer banged his gavel, bringing the chamber to silence. Yzak could feel the stares of the gallery upon his back.

"If the counsels have no further witnesses to call" began the officiating officer. The bright, harsh light gave his bearded face a look of cold authority. "The counsels will begin summation, starting with the defence." Corrin stood up and cleared his throat.

"Sir, I wish it remembered that Commander Joule has served the PLANTs and the Coordinator nation with honour, dignity, and sacrifice. Also, the prosecution has offered no meaningful evidence that Commander Joule was in any way aware that the shuttle was carrying civilian refugees. The defence has shown clear evidence that no positive identification was possible under the circumstances, the N-Jammer field having nullified the shuttle's identifying transponder signal, and the shuttle being of a type of common civilian and military use. If no positive identification was possible, then Commander Joule cannot reasonably be accused of war crimes in this matter. The defence rests." Corrin sat down.

"And the prosecution?" The prosecuting officer stood, his eyes bright with conviction, his face hard.

"Sir, the defence may talk of positive identification, but the prosecution feels it necessary to return our minds to the bare facts. It is bare fact, sir, that _Commander _Joule wilfully and knowingly fired upon the shuttle, in a _fit _of _anger_, despite being quite aware of the _possibility _that it _might _be carrying civilians, for the very reasons the defence has already stated. Ignorance is no defence, and Commander Joule must take full responsibility for this vile act of murder. He is fit neither to command, nor to wear the uniform of ZAFT, nor even to remain alive. The prosecution rests."

There was murmuring in the gallery, eliciting a bang of the gavel.

"Before the deciding council is released to consider its verdict," the officiating officer said. "This court has seen fit to allow one final deposition. Call Chairman Gilbert Durandal!"

Yzak felt his heart race as the call echoed across the courtroom.

Gilbert Durandal strode into the courtroom, with all the majesty of a man-o-war under full sail. All present leapt to their feet and saluted as they past. Yzak couldn't take his eyes off the man, though his gaze was not returned.

The officiating officer sat down again, all others doing likewise, as Durandal took his place at the central podium.

"Mr Chairman, are you ready to make your deposition?"

"I am."

"Then please begin." Durandal cleared his throat.

"This court is about to find a young officer, a young man, guilty of war crimes and sentence him to death. Please do not trouble me with denials, for I have maintained close observance of this trial, and all the others currently taking place. It is the right and duty of this court, under our constitution and laws, to do this thing. It is also my right, both as Chairman of the Supreme Council, and also as a PLANT citizen, to make this heartfelt plea." He paused. The courtroom was a silent as tomb.

"It is true that Commander Joule made a terrible mistake, one that cost the lives of many blameless people. Doubtless we all wonder what could have driven him to do it. Was it hot blood in the fury of battle? Was it a callous disregard for the lives of non-Coordinators? We may wonder these things, but in so doing we forget a much more important question. That question is, who _made _him so? By what evil means was an honest and pure young man made into a murderer? In what dark, satanic mill was he refashioned into a living engine of destruction?

To that question, here is my answer. It was war that shaped him, as it has shaped countless others. It was the military training, however necessary, that made him able to kill. It was the stress and thrill of battle that made him willing to kill. When combined with military training, such a war as that was enough to make a murderer of anyone, yet this young man conducted himself for the most part with courage and honour. It may be true that his blood was hotter than might be appropriate, and that discipline and patience were all too often lacking, but on one occasion, and one occasion only, did these flaws translate into a crime against humanity." Another pause.

"And yet you would condemn him for this," he went on, his tone suddenly accusing. "You would condemn him for one mistake, one moment of overwhelming rage, in a war that drowned the world in blood, with hate enough to shadow all humanity in everlasting darkness. You would condemn him, when we are all of us guilty."

There was stony silence as he paused again. Yzak couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"It was we, the adults, who started the war. It was we, consumed with fear and hatred, who poured fuel upon the flame. But it was not we who fought in the war. We did not deign to finish what we had started. Rather, fearing what we had unleashed, we sent the young to fight in our stead. It was the young who fought, bled, suffered, and died, while we remained safe here. If we the adults send the children to fight, what right have we to punish their mistakes? By what privilege, by what law, do we call them criminals and sentence them to death? Who are we to sit in judgement over them? What justice is it to condemn them, when we condemned them once already?" Silence.

"I ask this court, from the bottom of my heart, to pardon this young man. It is to young people like him that we must one day pass the torch. It is young people like him, and so many others, who will build the better future for which so many laid down their lives. Surely he has suffered enough, as have those who love him, and those others whom you seek to condemn. If sorrow, remorse, and sincere repentance are not sufficient answer, then there can be no sufficient answer, and justice must give way to vengeance, blood feud, and heady murder. For this young man I plead, for his comrades and friends I plead, for the sake of the future I plead. My friends, I plead, _forbear._"

Silence.

* * *

**Now**

_**Supreme Council Building, Aprilius One PLANT, October 16**__**th,**__** 73 CE**_

"I must apologise for keeping you waiting like that. I've literally just come out of a meeting with a delegation from Mars, would you believe it."

Athrun was still too stunned to reply. He had just been glomped by a perfect facsimile of Lacus Clyne, even though he had last seen her in Orb less than a day earlier.

Well, _almost _perfect. Lacus was most definitely _not _built like that. What was more, he was fairly certain they were real.

And now he was inside Gilbert Durandal's private office. The room was very large, so large that the lights did not illuminate it completely. The result was a curious low-light effect, almost an artificial twilight. Athrun wondered if Durandal just happened to like it that way, or whether he had set the lights like that deliberately. Was he trying to set him on edge? Or put him at ease? With _that _man, one could never be entirely sure.

The Chairman gestured to a coffee table, with a sofa arranged along one side and two armchairs positioned opposite. Athrun sat at one end of the sofa, and Durandal took the chair immediately opposite.

"Now Alex," Durandal began. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm here on behalf of the Chief Representative in a private capacity," Athrun replied formally. "We never got the opportunity to sound you out properly during our last visit."

"In other words, you want to know what I think, as opposed to what I say when my subordinates are listening." Durandal smiled indulgently. "Well then, what do you wish to know?"

"I…the Chief Representative needs to know what your true position is," Athrun went on, cheeks burning at the slip. "What does your administration plan to do about the situation with the Earth Alliance?"

"Don't you mean the _former _Earth Alliance?" Durandal queried. "If we are being honest with one-another, then let us harbour no illusions. As far as the PLANTs are concerned, the Earth Alliance no longer exists."

"That's a very convenient position," Athrun retorted, his tone hardening. "You must know that there are rumours about your involvement. A lot of people think you had something to do with it."

"Doubtless they do," Durandal mused. "Conspiracy theory is a common human reaction to momentous events. They cannot believe that accidents simply happen, so there must be some darker motive."

"With respect, _Mister Chairman_," Athrun did his best not to hiss, though his blood was up. "It's hard to be philosophical when you've lost friends and loved ones, or your home has been destroyed, or if such things might happen at any time." Durandal looked him straight in the eyes for what felt like a very long time.

"I will be blunt, Alex." And the Chairman's tone was indeed blunt. "The Earth Alliance represented an existential threat to the PLANTs. Encouraging it to fracture was a logical course of action, and the only realistic one available to us. The Atlantic Federation alone is far easier to manage than the entire planet, and if some opportunity to further weaken it were to come our way, it was equally logical to take it."

"Mister Chairman!" Athrun could barely believe what he was hearing, though a part of him had already known it to be true. His heart rebelled at the coldness of it, that Durandal could apply rational calculation to the fates of billions.

"You must understand, Alex," Durandal went on. "Despite their excitement over the Jovians, the people up here are still very worried. They feared that the Earth Alliance would remain under the sway of Blue Cosmos, that it would find some excuse to attack, to finish us off. Such fear must be addressed, lest it overwhelm and destroy us."

"But you're _not _addressing it!" Athrun almost shouted. "They're more afraid now than they were before! And by setting the superpowers against each-other you're making war more likely!" His green eyes blazed as dark memories flashed through his mind.

"If the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia fight each other, it won't just stay with them!" he went on. "It'll spread to the other superpowers, and the neutral countries, and the colonies! Everything it touches will be destroyed! We will gain nothing, and lose everything!" He trailed off, fighting back tears of frustration and shame.

"Cagalli is trying to stop it!" he blurted out. "She's tearing her own heart out to try and stop it, but all you're doing is undermining her!"

"Ah Alex…" There was compassion, and pain, in those golden eyes.

"My name…!" Athrun interrupted, then faltered as the Rubicon loomed in front of him. "My name is Athrun Zala, son of Patrick Zala, the man who fanned the flames of hatred, and let them spread out of control!" He broke off again, barely hearing the almost certainly insincere gasp of surprise from Durandal.

"I believed in my father," he went on, his voice croaking past the lump in his throat. "I fought hard, killed many enemies, and even fought my best friend. And even after I knew I was wrong, I couldn't stop him. I lost everything…and yet my father's words still linger."

He hunched over, gritting his teeth as the horror of it ran through him like ice water.

"That's why we can't let this happen!" he hissed, barely able to speak. "We can't let this happen again!"  
"Athrun!" The words, more forceful than before, somehow cut through his pain. Durandal sighed, stood up, and stepped away from the table. He stood with his back to Athrun, hands clasped behind.

"I know what Commander Sato said at Junius Seven," he said. "I read it in the report filed by Pilot Shinn Asuka. It…must have been difficult for you."

"No, not really," Athrun replied. "Actually, it was better that I found out. Otherwise I'd be blind to what's really going on, like before."

"Don't blame yourself Athrun." Durandal's tone was sincere as he turned to face him. "You are not responsible for your father, or what others do in his name. It is…unfortunate that his memory causes you such pain." Athrun wasn't sure if the lattermost comment was meant as a rebuke.

"But then," Durandal went on. "Chairman Zala probably wasn't that kind of person to begin with, was he?"

"No," Athrun admitted, "he wasn't."

It was true. As alien as it seemed now, Athrun could still remember when his father had been a good man, or as good a man as his life and responsibilities allowed. He had rarely been around, and when he was there he had generally been distant and a tad authoritarian, but Athrun had never felt as if there was anything wrong with it. He had known too few children, let alone their families, to have much to compare it to.

"Chairman Zala certainly made mistakes during his tenure," Durandal continued, in that same curiously gentle tone. "However, I believe that he was motivated by a sincere desire to protect the PLANTs, to protect us, and to make a better world for us." He sighed.

"One may wonder how a great man such as he could fall so far," he said. "Personally, I believe that such men and women are made evil by the same things that made them great. Those same great talents, that same empyrean fire that drove Chairman Zala to achieve greatness drove him also to make terrible mistakes. The same, I suspect, counts for those who are inspired by them, who hear their words and take them into their hearts." Durandal paused a moment.

"The renegades who sought to drop Junius Seven had no way to vent their feelings. Their anger, their grief, their frustration, so many things churning up inside their hearts. As degraded as he became, Commander Sato was once a gallant and devoted soldier. But that heart that was so full of courage was also filled with sorrow, a sorrow that turned into anger, and thence into hatred. The loss of his wife and daughter was a wound that would never heal, a compulsion that grew stronger with every passing day. Every time he looked down on the Earth and saw it at peace, he must have felt that he was betraying his family and comrades, those whose memory he was doomed to carry. That strong and brave heart would allow him no other response."

"Chairman…"

"I understand what you want from me, Athrun. I know you and the Chief Representative want me to support her peace efforts. But my overt support is the last thing she needs, as I am sure you have come to understand with Prince Daniel." Athrun began to reply, but his voice caught in his throat.

"It is being put about," Durandal continued his countenance darkening, "that there was a dreadful altercation during the meeting with the Atlantic Federation's representatives. Certain things were said that should not have been said, and tensions continue to run high. For all of Prince Daniel's sincerity, I fear his presence on Earth is a two-edged sword. With me, it would be ten times worse."

"Mister Chairman." Athrun didn't know what to feel. In spite of everything, he felt comforted by Durandal's words about his father, somewhat more at ease. It was as if a part of him had still wanted to believe that his father wasn't really a monster, that there was still light and nobility in his soul, wretched and blood-stained as it was.

"I think you can understand, therefore," Durandal said with a smile, "why you encountered Lacus Clyne in the corridor a few moments ago." Athrun's eyes widened. In the throes of anguish and fury, he had quite forgotten about her.

"Yes," the Chairman went on. "There are few who can reach so many as her. I understand how you must feel about this Athrun, but I have desperate need of her strengths."

"_Was it you then_?" Athrun thought, his mind racing. "_Did you hire those mercenaries? Did you try to kill Lacus, Kira, and the others_?"

It seemed obvious, perhaps a little too obvious. But he couldn't prove anything, and never would if he started mouthing off. Though it took all his will, Athrun kept his mouth shut.

"All the same, I want to help in any way I can." Durandal smiled again. "Because you came here of your own will, out of an earnest desire to prevent war. To prove my sincerity, I'd like to show you something." He gestured for Athrun to follow.

Athrun followed him out of the office, and out to the back of the building, where a stretch elecar with darkened windows was waiting for them. The two blackshirt subalterns inside said not a word as the elecar took them to the PLANT's central pylon. A brief, equally silent elevator ride took them to the axis module, whereupon the Chairman led the way into a high-security military module.

Athrun felt distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't just being whisked halfway across the PLANT all of a sudden without any explanation. It was also because he had been on that route before, in the company of an earlier Chairman. He remembered quite clearly where that journey had taken him.

His suspicions were confirmed when a heavy security door was opened before them, and Durandal led him into what was unmistakeably a mobile suit hangar. Durandal halted halfway along an observation gantry, and as if on cue the lights came on.

Athrun had already known what he would see, but the sight still made the breath gasp from his lungs. The mobile suit was a dull silver-grey in colour, the colour of Phase Shift armour in its dormant state. It was tall and powerful-looking, though somewhat slim or so it seemed. Wings folded behind its back, and two long modules, looking almost like the noses of fighter jets, reached down from its shoulders to its heels. A long-barrelled beam rifle hung from its right hand.

But what really drew his attention was the head. Like most ZAFT mobile suits it had a tall vertical crest reaching from its head, in this case combined with tapering golden wings reaching out to the sides. Between its crested, overbearing forehead and its rounded face, there were two green eyes.

"ZGMF-X23S _Saviour_," Durandal reported proudly. "Though somewhat different, it was developed alongside the _Chaos_, _Gaia, _and _Abyss._" He paused a moment, regarding Athrun as he stared up at the mighty machine.

"If I told you I wanted to entrust this machine to you," he said, "what would you do?" Athrun glared suspiciously back at him. At last, the Chairman had revealed his true intent.

"What are you implying?" he asked, his tone hard. "Are you asking me to return to ZAFT?"

"Not as such," Durandal replied mildly. "I merely wish to entrust this machine to you." There was silence.

"I admit," the Chairman went on, "that on paper it would be as you say, more or less. The fact is, this situation is likely to get even more complicated than it already is. I would like someone like you, someone pure of heart and purpose, to wield _Saviour_'s power. It will give you the power to do what you must, and what you think is right. You, better than most, know the difference between knowing what to do and actually doing it."

"Chairman…" Athrun's head was in a spin. "I…I can't just…"

"I don't need a decision from you just yet Athrun," Durandal reassured him. "Take as much time as you need. I think you'll know what you have to do when the time is right."

Durandal drifted away towards the door, leaving Athrun alone with the mobile suit.

* * *

_**Diplomatic Compound, Orb Union **_

"I trust his Majesty has given his reply?"

Feretrius Brand could not claim to know Unato Ema Seiran well. Decades of service to his King and the Jovian people as an envoy to the autonomous colonies had long since taught him how effectively a person's true nature and thoughts could be concealed. The Prime Minister of Orb, seated facing him across his office, was evidently a past master.

"His Majesty ordered a special meeting of the cabinet for the purpose," he replied cordially. "They have given their consent."

"I am so very glad to hear it." Unato smiled a smile that _might _have been sincere. "Dare I assume that includes the immediate transfer of the technologies in question?"

"It does indeed."

Feretrius could see the triumph in his guest's eyes, no matter how hard he might be trying to conceal it. The military technologies Jupiter was about to provide would give Orb a tremendous advantage, once the technicians from Morgenroete had managed to properly reverse-engineer them, and firmly cement House Seiran's power base.

Just so long as no one else found out.

"Then you will please convey my profound thanks to his Majesty," Unato said, with what Feretrius could almost believe was real feeling. "This agreement will contribute significantly to the long-term security and prosperity of the Orb Union, and in time, the entire Earth-sphere."

"We are happy to be of help, Prime Minister," Feretrius replied. "The sample reactor will be transferred to Morgenroete just as soon as you can confirm the exchange we agreed upon."

"It will be confirmed, of course," Unato reassured him. "Along with the transfer of the Inari asteroid colony to Jovian sovereignty, and of course the purchase of the Helium-3 fuel. I trust the first shipment is ready?"

"It will leave as soon as we send word."

"Excellent."

Feretrius Brand suppressed a shiver at the thought of what was taking place. The sample reactor currently stowed in one of the _Jovian Dawn_'s cargo holds, along with other examples of Jovian technology, was an exact copy of an old Mark One, the very first miniature reactor to be mass-produced back when King Nathaniel had been a young man and he himself had been a child. Giving Orb such a relic was slightly underhand, but historically a quite normal practice in arms dealing, so much so that Unato had almost certainly made the deal on that very understanding. It didn't make _that _much difference anyway, for it would still take several years for Orb's scientists and engineers to get their heads around the technology well enough to make even a comparatively simple civilian version. Once that river was crossed, the technology would spread.

With any luck.

"_Ah, my King,_" Feretrius thought. "_What games we play._"

"There is another matter I feel we should discuss," he said, trying to maintain the thus far convivial mood. "Your Chief Representative has been conducting certain…negotiations with other governments. She has approached my Prince over these matters."

"What matters would those be?" There was not so much as a flicker, not even a twitch of the eyebrows.

"The Chief Representative made an informal, though apparently heartfelt request," Feretrius went on, "that the Kingdom of Jupiter should assist her in her plan to prevent a breakout of violence in the event of Great Britain seceding from the Atlantic Federation. Her plan apparently involves issuing a joint guarantee of the independence and security of that country, in the hope that this will be enough to deter the Atlantic Federation from retaliation." Feretrius raised one eyebrow just slightly. "Is this the Orb Union's policy?" Unato gave him a world-weary sigh.

"Our Chief Representative has the best interests of Orb at heart," he said, somewhat indulgently. "She has an equally sincere hatred of war, understandably so considering what she has experienced. She is however cursed with the naiveté and passion of youth. When combined with her entirely justifiable fears of the possible consequences of another war, this has led her to act somewhat precipitously."

"Then you have no intention of involving Orb in the crisis?" Feretrius pressed. "You will not make a formal request for Jovian military assistance?"

"We would never _dream _of inconveniencing you like that, except in the most dire extremity," Unato reassured him. "A drink?"

"Please." Unato stood up and headed for the sideboard.

"No one fears a superpower clash more than I," he said, as he poured exquisite _Nikka_ single malt into two ice-filled tumblers. "But the Chief Representative's strategy of leaping between the combatants in the hope of distracting them is bound to fail. Be assured ambassador, we have far better plans in development."

"Which are?"

"First of all, we intend to shore up our position internally." Unato stoppered the receptacle and set it down. "For this, we will have House Athha fulfil its long-standing promise of marriage between my son Yuna and the Chief Representative. A union between the Houses of Athha and Seiran will greatly strengthen the government's position both internally and internationally." He shot Feretrius a quick smile over his shoulder. "The Jovian delegation is invited, of course."

"I see," Feretrius replied, concealing his disquiet. "Has the Chief Representative given her word?"

"Not _as _yet," Unato admitted. "But it's just a matter of time. Yuna knows her better than most, and he assures me that she will see reason. With that…_companion _of hers out of the way, there will be no interference from the PLANTs."

"Very well. And what then?"

"We will then be able to negotiate with the Atlantic Federation from a position of strength," Unato went on, picking up the tumblers and heading back towards Feretrius. "We will be in a position to act as a trustworthy arbiter between the Atlantic and Eurasian Federations. With this and the bargaining power your technologies will give us, we will also be in a position to…_persuade _the Eurasians not to involve themselves in any secession attempt."

"Meaning that if the British make a move, the Atlantic Federation will be allowed to crush it," Feretrius concluded. "That does not concern you?"

"They are a ruthless and degraded people," Unato retorted coldly, handing Feretrius his tumbler. "A nation of mercenaries and pirates. They deserve all they get. In the meantime," he raised his own tumbler.

"To the Kingdom of Jupiter, and our new friendship."

"To the Orb Union," Feretrius returned, raising his own glass. "And our mutual prosperity."

The tumblers clinked.

* * *

_**Aprilius One PLANT, October 17**__**th,**__** CE 73**_

The hotel room was spacious and well-appointed, the sort of accommodation Athrun had gradually become accustomed to after following Cagalli around for so long.

Before Athrun was a French window, and beyond that a balcony, offering a fine view of the city. Athrun had spent the night before taking advantage of it, hoping against hope that the gleaming cityscape would take his mind off things.

It hadn't.

Rather, he had spent much of the night tossing and turning, his mind racing as it tried to process everything that had happened. The Chairman's admissions, the fake Lacus, that new mobile suit, to which Durandal had all but tossed him the keys.

He wanted to tell someone, but there was no one he _could _tell. He dared not call Kira and Lacus, for fear of exposing their hiding place. He had tried to call Cagalli several times, only to be told upon finally getting though that she was far too busy with official business. Athrun had left a message, trying to ignore the danger sirens blaring inside his mind.

He had seen another Lacus, a Lacus so similar as to fool just about anyone, but nevertheless a fake Lacus. A fake Lacus who sounded _exactly _like the real Lacus. Where had she come from? How had Durandal managed to find her, to _change _her like that? Was it mere possibility? A one-in-a-billion chance?

Had Durandal created his very own Lacus Clyne, and tried to kill the real one to cover it up?

He wasn't sure, and the fake's mere existence did not prove anything. Durandal had made no effort to silence him, or to threaten him regarding it, because in truth there was no need. If if he _were _to try and tell someone, no one would believe him.

The door chime drew him from his reverie. Athrun strode across the room and, without remembering to see who it was, opened the door.

"YOU BASTARD!"

Something barrelled through the half-open door, grabbing him by his shirt and shoving him back into the room. Athrun's mind was momentarily blank, but as his senses returned he made out the extremely angry face looming only a few centimetres from his own.

"Yzak?"

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded his old comrade.

"Why don't you try telling me what this is all about?" Athrun snapped back, throwing off Yzak Joule's grip with a snarl.

"Why don't _you _tell _me_?" Yzak retorted, those deep blue eyes flashing with anger. "We were pulled away from our _extremely _busy schedules to meet with the Council, and they tell us to be your _bodyguards_!"

"What?" It was only at the word _our _that Athrun finally noticed the other person in the room. In sharp contrast to Yzak, Dearka Elsman did not seem at all angry, though he looked rather dubiously at Athrun. He was also rather better dressed, in a black and white checked shirt and grey jacket, as opposed to the green suit, pink shirt, and blue tie Yzak had selected.

"Why us?" Yzak went on, having not yet had his pound of flesh. "Why were we dragged off the front line for this?"

"You're…my bodyguards?"

"You asked to be let out, right?" Dearka cut in casually.

"Dearka…"

"Long time no see. It's probably because of what's been happening." Dearka strolled past to gaze out of the French window. "Even though you're from a friendly nation, we can't just have people wandering around."

"I…" Athrun was still bewildered. "They told me someone would be escorting me, but I never imagined…you guys."

"Yes!" Yzak snapped again. "Us!" He looked away with a snort. Athrun glanced back at Dearka, who merely shrugged.

They did not say any more until they were inside the elevator going down.

"Well," Dearka commented, "looks like whoever set this up knows what they're doing." He grinned. "So, where'd you wanna go?"

"If you say shopping, I'll kill you!" Yzak growled.

"Nothing like that," Athrun replied, as they stepped out of the elevator. "I want to see the others." All three stopped.

"I don't get out here much," Athrun went on, filling the silence. "So I promised myself I'd visit them when I got the chance." He glanced back at his two old comrades. Yzak's face had softened somewhat, and Dearka was the same as ever.

It was only then that Athrun noticed that Yzak's scar was missing.

* * *

_**Artemis Fortress, Lagrange 3**_

Admiral Gerard Garcia had a lot on his mind.

When he had first assumed command of the Artemis Fortress, he had taken it as a great honour, a path to better things. That was back before the process of space colonization had stalled, reducing Artemis from the protector of Eurasia's colonies to a mere curiosity, given relevance only by its seemingly impenetrable _Armure Lumiere_ defence system. After that, he had come to view his position as a cushy job, one he could do reasonably well without exerting himself too much, and which was unlikely to be taken from him.

Then _it _had come by, and humiliation after humiliation had followed. First, the _Archangel _crew managing to escape with the _Strike _prototype, though in truth that was only because ZAFT had used one of its brothers, the _Blitz, _to launch a sneak attack. Then there was that incident with Special Operatives X going rogue, and even those damn mercenaries turning their coats the moment they felt like it.

Gerard had expected to lose everything, to be recalled in utter disgrace. But central command had proven quite a bit more understanding, or perhaps more forgiving, than he had expected. They had accepted his explanation regarding the _Archangel_, especially since it was the Atlantic Federation's fault for losing the G-weapon prototypes in the first place, and could even agree that someone had screwed up in vetting the Special Operatives X personnel. So he had kept his job.

Except now things had changed. Since the end of the last war, the colony construction programme had resumed with a vengeance. People were moving out into space in their hundreds of thousands, meaning that at last there were people and industries for Artemis to protect. If that were not bad enough, someone had decided to include Artemis in Project Laurium.

Gerard sighed, rubbing the back of his bare head. He had spent the previous evening removing the OMNI badges from his uniform jackets, but had been forced to send his caps down to supply to be redone. They had promised to have them finished by the evening, but that still meant spending the day with his bald, bullet head on full display.

He didn't particularly mind that, any more than he minded all the extra work of keeping those Project Laurium scientists and engineers in order, and production of their brainchildren on schedule. There was of course the possibility of the Atlantic Federation pulling a fast one to worry about, but that was par-the-course.

What he _minded _was the importance Artemis had now assumed in Eurasia's plans, especially in light of his past misfortunes. He could not be entirely certain that they would allow someone like _him _to remain in charge of so important a facility.

Then again, if they were going to fire or demote him, they would have done so already.

And besides, he already knew too much for them to risk antagonizing him, and he knew enough little tricks to make disposing of him a _very _bad idea, should they be contemplating going that far.

No, that wasn't what was getting him so agitated.

It was the thought of seeing _him _again.

In truth, Gerard wasn't sure whether to be angry or pleased. He had never gotten on well with that young man, even before he had stolen and later lost the _Hyperion _prototype. The feeling, he was quite sure, had been mutual.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Central Command had let him back in, given him rank and responsibility, and sent him to Artemis. As infuriating as he had been, he would that very day become Gerard's subordinate, and a potentially very useful one at that.

Assuming he finally had the right attitude.

The intercom buzzed.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Commander Pars to see you, admiral."

"Ah yes. Send him in." Gerard straightened in his chair, taking a self-conscious moment to arrange his jacket. He managed not to smile too much as the wood-panelled double-door opened.

"_Well, look who's come crawling back,_" he though triumphantly as a young man, clad in the same white uniform as himself, strode into the office. Canard Pars had changed very little since last they had met. That oval face, the skin just slightly bronzed, and the piercing purple eyes focussed on a point behind the back of Gerard's head. His glossy black hair was the mane he remembered, reaching down to his waist. Gerard thought of commenting on it, then decided against it. He would not be provoked.

"Lieutenant Commander Canard Pars, reporting for duty, sir!" Canard doffed his cap and tucked it under his right arm, then snapped to attention and saluted. Gerard nodded, and accepted the dossier containing his credentials. He made a show of reading the papers inside, wondering just how long this new, _military _version of Canard Pars could stay at attention without losing his temper.

"Welcome back, _Lieutenant Commander _Pars." It was all Gerard could do not to smirk. "You've been a long time in returning."

"I had my reasons, sir." His tone added the caveat _"none of which I'm willing to discuss."_

"Quite." In truth, Gerard already knew what he had been doing for the past two years, knowledge that made this day all the more satisfying. "Well, all this seems in order. It's good for all of us that Central Command has such confidence in you."

"Sir." The face was entirely emotionless.

"You are assigned," Gerard went on, "to our new battleship _Cygnus, _under the command of Meriol Pistis." He felt a mild satisfaction at the slight twitch of Canard's eyebrow. "Your role will be to command the _Cygnus_' mobile suit contingent."

"Command…sir?"

"Yes." Gerard allowed himself to smile. "Eleven mobile suits besides your own. Eleven subordinates." The admiral picked up another dossier from his desk and handed it to Canard. He sat quietly as Canard flicked through it, waiting for the fireworks.

"Sir…" A definite twitch in the eyebrows.

"A problem, Lieutenant Commander?" _Here it comes._

"Admiral." A vein stood out on Canard's forehead. "One of these is a Socius."

"Indeed." Gerard allowed his smile to widen. "Three-Socius was quite a find. We tried for more, but the others are as far as we know dead or in the service of Rondo Mina Sahaku. Alas she can't be persuaded to part with them."

"General!" Canard almost snarled. "I _know _about the Socius clones! A pilot that can't fight Naturals is no use to me!"

"No need to worry about that," Gerard assured him, enjoying himself enormously. "The counsellors assure me they've gotten him around that."

The Socius series of Coordinator clones were highly capable, but each one had been subjected to psychological conditioning preventing them from knowingly harming a Natural. Another of Blue Cosmo's little pet projects, and in Gerard Garcia's eyes the ultimate symbol of their hypocrisy.

Apart from _them,_ of course.

"Lieutenant Commander, forgive me if I sound flippant, but this is how it goes. Central Command has judged that you are the one best equipped to deal with this situation. Unless of course…" His smile widened into a particularly vicious smirk, "you'd rather go back to drinking away your war pension."

It only lasted a moment, but Gerard could still see the shiver of volcanic fury run through Canard's body.

"_I have you now, you damn brat. You're not going to give me trouble like last time, because you know what the alternative is. Fighting is all you're good for, and you have too much pride to be nothing._"

"I shall do my utmost, sir.

"Good. That will be all, Lieutenant Commander. Report to Captain Pistis and she will get you started. Don't let me detain you." With a degree of self-control that Gerard could not help but admire, Canard snapped off a salute and strode out of the office.

As the door closed, Gerard relaxed in his seat, a wide grin on his face.

"_You'll understand why they need you_, _in time_" he thought, triumphantly. "_If you can live with having to come back here._"

He heard a thump against the wall outside, and wondered if he might not have gone too far.

* * *

"Bastard!"

Canard slammed his gloved fist against the wall, willing it to buckle and bend before his fury.

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!"

That self-righteous prick knew. He knew what he had been through, what it had taken to make him agree to put on the uniform, and to return to Artemis. He knew what was running through his mind, and his soul.

And he was enjoying every moment of it.

"You don't know…" Canard pressed his forehead against the wall, _needing _the pain in his brow. "You don't know…"

"Don't know what?"

The familiar voice snapped him out of his misery. Canard spun round, to see a woman not much older than himself, clad in the same white and black uniform but with a skirt rather than trousers, her hair still in that same, severe-looking bob. Her face was expressionless, but there was what might have been a twinkle behind her glasses.

"Captain, Ma'am!" Canard snapped to attention and saluted, embarrassed. "I…please excuse my conduct."

"No need to apologise, Lieutenant Commander," Meriol Pistis replied, returning the salute. "The admiral has that effect on people, as you well know."

"Admiral Garcia told me to report to you," Canard went on awkwardly. "For my orders."

"For your new home." Meriol gave him a smile. "Come see my _Cygnus_, Lieutenant Commander." Canard followed Meriol along the corridor towards the elevator. Alone inside the car, some of the tension eased.

"I…heard about the _Ortygia_," Canard said. "I'm sorry."

"I've lost ships before," Meriol replied, somewhat wistfully. "And under far worse circumstances." A long pause.

"For what it's worth," Meriol spoke up again, "I'm sorry things didn't work out for you on civvy street. Believe me, you're not the only one."

Canard knew, only too well. The Moscow bar they had eventually found him in was popular with ex-servicemen and women, especially those who found post-military life to be overrated. Like them, he had rarely left the place except to eat, or maybe to sleep. When he didn't, he just slept slumped over the bar, or a table in the corner. The old _babushka_ who ran the place hadn't the heart to throw him out. She knew her customers, and they didn't allow anyone to give her any trouble. Even Blue Cosmos thugs hunting for 'crypto-Coordinators' had learned to give that particular bar a wide berth.

How things had changed since then. Canard knew all about that too, for he had taken a rare wander away from the bar to see the Blue Cosmos street protest against the Federal edict banning their group as a terrorist organisation. The event had been…_lively _to say the least.

He had changed too. His old self would have found it thoroughly entertaining.

"Captain, no offense, but have you ever lived in reserve housing?"

"I have." There was a twinkle of amusement in Meriol's eyes as Canard gaped.

"But, aren't you…?"

"My family wasn't rich, Lieutenant Commander. Besides, I was a student."

That made sense. Reserve housing was for those who couldn't afford anything better, which in practice meant the unemployed, the desperately poor, or those with little money when prices were high. It was good propaganda, allowing Eurasia to boast that it had eliminated homelessness, and helped keep crime down. The elite didn't mind their taxes going on it, for it meant no longer having to step over homeless people in the street.

It was the first time she had ever mentioned her family, or her life before she had met him.

"Captain."

"Hmm?"

"Will there be a war?" He looked her straight in the eyes, alert for deception, determined to know the truth. "Are we _truly _going to fight the Atlantic Federation?" Meriol returned his gaze for a long time. The only sound was the hum of the elevator. After what seemed like an age, Meriol reached for the control panel and stopped the car.

"The spiel about official secrets aside," she said darkly, "Central Command is pretty damn sure. They've already activated War Plan Lambda, and pre-mobilization is complete as of two days ago."

"Lambda?"

"Thermopylae, Lieutenant Commander" Meriol explained. "We can't use Alpha or Beta without space superiority, and even the Federal Council isn't degraded or desperate enough to try Sigma or Omega."

"So…" Canard mused, his brow furrowing as he understood. "We stand and die."

"If that's what it comes to."

Canard regarded Meriol for a long time. She was a loyal and committed soldier, willing to lay down her life for the Eurasian Federation, and in many ways as ruthless as he had once been. She represented everything he had tried to reject, the life he had tried to escape.

"_Neither of us was born to fight!_"

The image flashed across his mind, of that young face twisted in righteous anger, those blue eyes so bright with conviction, yet warm with compassion. The face that had haunted his nightmares ever since that final battle at Lagrange Four.

"_I've always felt compassion for you!_"

Canard shivered. It was that face, or rather the heart behind it, that had led him down another path. It was those memory of those eyes, as they closed in death, that made him try to live a new life, free of violence.

Except he couldn't.

"_Damn you Prayer Reverie_!" he thought bitterly, driving the face away. "_You'll never know what you did to me!_"

The woman before him was a living reminder of who he had been, but she was also the nearest thing he had to a friend, one who had risked her career, her ship, and her own life for his sake. Didn't that count for something? Was it something _he_, and his compassionate heart, could ever have understood or acknowledged?

"_You violated me! You deceived me!_"

"Captain," he said, his voice hoarse. "If you want to walk this path…I want to go too."

"I'd like that, Canard."

Meriol restarted the car. Within moments it came to a halt, heralded by the zero-g warning light. Canard felt the sensation of weightlessness, long since familiar, before the door slid open and he followed Meriol out.

Canard found himself in a long observation gallery, offering a clear view of Artemis' central shaft. The horizontal shaft rotated in the manner of an O'Neill cylinder, providing the modules around the outside with gravity while leaving a convenient zero-g zone along the middle where ships could be docked. There were several ships docked there, of designs Canard had never seen before.

"There she is," Meriol said proudly, pointing to one of the two largest ships. "My _Cygnus_."

Canard stared at the vessel in a rare moment of wonder. It was large by Earth-sphere standards, at between four or five hundred metres long if his enhanced eyesight judged correctly. Its shape was of a broad, flat blade, narrowing for the final third of its length, but for two engine pods set either side. The superstructure rose along its length, crowned with four twin beam cannon turrets and finally with a spindly-looking bridge tower. Set either side of the base of the tower were what looked like mobile suit hangars, with retracted electromagnetic catapults set underneath.

"Impressed?" Meriol asked, wearing a satisfied smirk.

"I am," Canard admitted.

"I think you'll be even more impressed," she went on, the twinkle returning to her eye, "when you see what's waiting for you in the hangar."

* * *

_**Aprilius One PLANT, October 17**__**th,**__** CE 73**_

The cemetery was a peaceful place, or as peaceful as anywhere in the PLANTs could be.

There was no one actually buried there. Space and soil were at a premium, and burying the dead came a poor third to food and oxygen production. The curved stones arranged in neat rows were only memorials, laid to provide the grieving with somewhere to go; to remember, to pray, to think, and to weep; to gather together, or be alone.

For his own part, Dearka Elsman was glad of it. It felt nostalgic, warm even, to gather around that little stone with Yzak and Athrun. It felt good to be able to share it with them, to recreate something of what they had once shared, and taken for granted. It was comforting to think that the life the stone commemorated was not gone for ever, that in some small way, Nicol Amalfi could live on.

It helped him deal with the feelings that had haunted him ever since those days. It helped him cope with the guilt.

"_Nicol…_"

He had called him a coward. A coward, because he had taken on an entire fortress in a stealthy mobile suit. A coward, because like Athrun, and unlike himself and Yzak, he had never really enjoyed fighting.

He had called him a coward; he who was the bravest of them all.

Athrun stood up from the stone, at which he had laid the bouquet he had purchased on the way. The three saluted, sharing in the recollection of old comradeship, and then stood in melancholy silence for a long time. Dearka gazed out over the cemetery, at the rows upon rows of memorials stretching out over the rolling green hills.

There were graves like that on Earth, he knew, some of them centuries old. He remembered seeing an image of one during a History class back at school, of those wide, green plains, the rows upon rows of little white crosses stretching far, far away.

There was a poem too, a lament for a war the Cosmic Era had largely forgotten, from an age as distant and unknowable as that of the pyramids.

_They shall grow not old, as we who are left grow old_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn_

_And in the going down of the sun, and in the morning_

_We will remember them._

"I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you both," Athrun said, sounding subdued.

"Don't worry about it," Dearka replied, in what he hoped was an easygoing tone. "It was worth it to come here."  
"I suppose," Yzak added, "they can do without us for a day or two. They already know what to practice."

"Practice?" Athrun asked. "For what?"

"Didn't you hear?" Dearka spoke up, finding it in himself to smile. "We'll be getting a visit from our new Jovian friends soon, apparently. The Chairman wants to lay on a show for them, and it's gonna be huge." Athrun did not reply.

"_He didn't know,_" Dearka thought. "_He really is out of the loop._"

"Athrun, come back to us." Yzak's words made Athrun start, his eyes momentarily bright with surprise.

"There'll be some obstacles," Yzak went on, not quite able to meet Athrun's eyes. "But I can deal with them. That's why…you should come back."

There was silence, but for the distant toning of a bell.

"Dearka and I," Yzak said, his voice hoarse. "They would have shot us both, if not for the Chairman."

There was something else Dearka didn't like to think about. When ZAFT had finally gotten round to punishing those it regarded as 'war criminals', both he and Yzak had been on the list. For Yzak, it was over the matter of a shuttle full of civilians he had shot down during that fight with Haliburton's fleet. For Dearka, it had been over his membership of the Three Ships Alliance.

Dearka didn't want to admit it, and did his best to hide it, but he was still hurt by it. He resented that he had been dragged before a court for doing the right thing. He resented that while Yzak and many others had gotten off unscathed, the court had fought his exoneration tooth and nail, eventually claiming his red coat and all the privileges and qualifications that came with it.

It wasn't because he had surrendered. Even _they _wouldn't condemn a man for giving up while starting down the barrels of a warship's beam cannon turret. It wasn't even because he had fought for Orb during the EA invasion, for as his defence counsel had argued, the destruction of OMNI personnel and equipment he had wrought in that cause had been directly beneficial to ZAFT. Officially it was because he had been part of the Three Ships Alliance, that rather than try and escape, he had fought alongside Athrun, Kira Yamato, Cagalli Yula Athha, and others in the cause of Lacus Clyne, the so-called songstress of peace. It didn't matter to them that he could never have outrun Yamato's stolen _Freedom_, or Athrun's _Justice_. The fact that he had not died heroically in the attempt was sin enough in their eyes.

What made it so bitter for Dearka was that he hadn't done it for the reasons everyone thought. He hadn't done it for the comradeship of Kira Yamato or Athrun Zala or Cagalli Yula Athha, for he was not of their element. Compared to them he had been a bit-player, a slave-soldier in a stolen, superseded mobile suit, with nowhere else to go. While what they had told him about ZAFT and Patrick Zala had shaken him to the core, he couldn't say he had done it for high ideals, or for Lacus Clyne's sweet words. He wasn't that kind of guy.

He had done it for _her, _fool that he had been. And that, he suspected, was the real reason.

"Athrun!" Yzak pressed, some of his old passion rising to the surface. "You were always the best of us! You should use your power, use it for us, for the PLANTs!"

"I…but…"

"I thought you three would be here."

The voice made them all jump. So preoccupied had they all been, that none of them had noticed the two newcomers approach. But there could be no mistaking Yuri and Romina Amalfi, or why they had come.

"Commander sir, ma'am" Yzak greeted them, snapping to attention and saluting. Dearka did likewise, but Athrun only lowered his head respectfully.

"Now now," Yuri Amalfi reassured them, a wan smile on his face. "No need for that, not here anyway." Despite his apparently friendly manner, the air was immediately thick with tension.

"We were just…" Dearka began, trailing off as his throat seemed to clog up.

"Now, boys." Romina Amalfi's voice was as painful to hear as her face was painful to see. "You've every right to be here, and that includes you Athrun." Athrun, looking as sheepish as Dearka had ever seen him, did not reply.

"If it's all right," Romina went on, "I'd like to talk with Athrun in private."

"By all means," Yuri replied, still wearing that sad smile. Athrun muttered something, and fell into step beside Romina, heading back the way they had come.

Dearka did not envy him.

* * *

If there was one person Athrun had wanted to avoid, it was the woman walking beside him there and then.

It was not that he disliked her. Romina Amalfi was a woman he profoundly respected. It was just that merely being near her made the old grief bubble to the surface. In contrast to his tall, brown-haired, lantern-jawed father, Nicol had gotten practically all of his features from his mother. That tapering chin, those high, delicate cheekbones, and even his hair, but of a lighter shade of green. Even those eyes, though partially concealed by a black veil, and her voice were enough to bring forth the old memories.

"I know we haven't spoken much, Athrun," she began. "Not since you and Nicol graduated."

"The fault is mine, ma'am," Athrun replied awkwardly. "I was away so much."

"I know."

A long, painful pause followed.

"I was fifteen when I gave birth to him," she said, wistfully. "It seems so long ago now. I was barely more than a child, yet there he was in my arms. My little Nicol."

Athrun had already known, but hearing it was no less awkward. It was not uncommon in the PLANTs for people to become parents at fourteen or fifteen, any more than it was for them to join ZAFT. One of the Supreme Council's first acts after its formation in CE 53, following the assassination of George Glenn, was to outlaw both contraception _and _abortions, citing the need to maintain and expand the Coordinator population. Despite the many perks heaped upon them by the government, including subsidised housing and childcare, the reality for many of those young mothers had been isolation and abandonment, whether by embarrassed parents, terrified lovers, or snooty neighbours. Social attitudes in the PLANTs were all too often deeply conservative, in the _she was asking for it_ mould.

"He was as gentle as a lamb," she went on, her smile fading. "So kind, and so talented. He was…everything to me, and to my husband. We had such hopes for him, and for the future he would live in."

"Ma'am!" Athrun wailed, tears brimming in his eyes as the dam within him broke,. "Forgive me! It's my fault he's dead!"

"Don't say that Athrun," Romina said in a low voice.

"He was trying to save me!" Athrun went on, the tears running down his face. "He _died _trying to save me!" Guilt drowned his heart as the images ran through his mind. In his mind's eye he saw the one-armed _Blitz _racing towards him, the _Strike _swinging its massive blade, catching the _Blitz_ in the stomach, slicing into the cockpit, into Nicol. Then he saw Cagalli, straddling his wounded body, thrusting a handgun in his face as she screamed out her grief.

"Athrun!" The sudden harshness in her voice shocked him into silence. Romina looked straight at him, and even through the veil there was no hatred or condemnation in her eyes.

"Athrun," she said, her voice gentle again. "Nicol would cry if he saw you like this, if he heard you say such things."

"Ma'am…" The look in her eyes made him think of his own mother, long dead on Junius Seven. It was a look that no picture could match, a feeling that remained only in his memory, in his heart.

"Nicol was always talking about you," Romina said. "He told me so many times of how glad he was to fight at your side. You were his friend, Athrun."

She looked out across the cemetery. The sun was setting, and the shadows of the markers were growing ever longer.

"He told me once, of how different you were from those two," her tone hardened suddenly. "And from le Creuset. He feared what would have happened, were it not for you to stand against them."

The mere mention of Rau le Creuset was enough to make Athrun feel ice in his stomach. The great puppet master of all that had occurred, the man who had hated all humanity, seeing its undying evil in the manner of his birth. Rau le Creuset, the man who had set in motion the destruction of the Earth, halted only by a quirk of fate.

"There are many things people may give their lives for," Romina went on. "Of all of them, the only one I care for is love. I feel better to know that Nicol gave his life for his friend. He found you worthy, Athrun, never forget that."

"I cannot forget it, ma'am." He could not. And he never would.

"Then, what will you do now, Athrun?" She turned to face him again, her head on one side. "What is your purpose now?" Athrun tried to meet her gaze, opening his mouth to speak of his commitment to Orb, and to Cagalli. But no words would come. His open mouth was as silent as the phone in his room.

"I…" He hung his head. "I don't know."

* * *

_**Onamuji Island, Orb Union, October 24**__**th,**__** CE 73**_

Cagalli Yula Athha stared at the stone in front of her.

She had not been there in some time. The constant pressure of ruling, even without looking after the Jovians, left her with little spare time. Aside from official events, she had few opportunities to visit her father's memorial.

The memorial itself was a simple stone tablet, on a stone dais reaching out over the bay. To her left, the skeleton of the half-reconstructed _Kaguya_ mass driver reached out into the sea. On the memorial were inscribed the names of Uzumi Nara Athha and those who had stood with him on that terrible day. The names of all the five Great Houses of Orb were listed there; Athha, Seiran, Sahaku, Kyofu, and Raiun. Of those, the latter two were effectively leaderless, their heads and higher-ups incinerated in the same explosion that had claimed her father. The survivors squabbled over their remaining assets, those that had not been swallowed up by House Seiran, and over control of their underage heirs.

More problems to sort out. More heads to bang together. More tears to dry, while holding back her own.

She had not gone there simply to remember her martyred father, or to meditate on the sacrifice made by Orb's government, soldiers and people. She had gone, as much as anything else, because she needed to get away. She needed to isolate herself from the endless babble of government, from the darkness that seemed to be closing in all around her.

It was happening. All that she feared, all that she had dreaded, was happening at last, and she was seemingly powerless to stop it.

The Seirans were doing what she had suspected, and feared, they would do. They were pushing harder and harder for a rapprochement with the Atlantic Federation, cosying up to that particular superpower in the hope of riding out the storm under its protection. Such an arrangement would deprive Orb of its traditional neutrality, the neutrality her father had died to protect. They would be enemies of the PLANTs, and also of Eurasia. Such a development might in itself be enough to provoke the superpower clash she had been working herself to death to prevent.

It was ironic really. Ever since the Reconstruction wars, the fate of small countries like Orb was to be conquered, marginalised or absorbed into superpower economic unions with a minimal pretence of consent. Orb had always been an outlier, the exception to the rule, a sign of hope to small nations who dreamed of an independent path. It was Orb's example, or so she sometimes thought, that had made the British believe they could succeed, that they could reclaim their half-forgotten glory by building a colony. It was for that dream that they had bankrupted themselves trying to build Darien, dooming themselves to poverty and servitude.

And yet, the decisions of those two small countries might be enough to decide whether peace or war would come.

"_Learn about the roots of this war, Cagalli._"

Her heart clenched. She was about to betray her father's memory, and all he had suffered and died for. She would betray it by intent, if she went along with the Seirans and their plans, or by weakness, if she refused and they simply bypassed her.

It was not for lack of trying. She had tried to convince them, to make them understand what they were doing. She had tried to make them see that they were betraying Orb's ideals, attacking it's very self, for the sake of imagined safety. She had fought them, alone.

"_Father, forgive me._"

She wished Athrun was there. It was only after he'd left that she'd begun to understand how much she had leaned on him, how much she _needed _him. His companionship, his advice, his conscience.

His love?

Though it sickened her, it did not at all surprise her that the Seirans had started pushing harder the moment he had left for the PLANTs. They had scented weakness, tasted blood in the water, and moved in for the kill.

And yet their words were not without merit. Orb had stood alone and burned at the touch of the Earth Alliance. The Atlantic Federation had proved its true nature long ago, and would not hesitate to burn Orb again.

It was not that Orb had anything all that unique, like oil or that mysterious mineral needed to create N-Jammer Cancellers. Orb's blessings had flown from its geography; from the abundant geothermal energy, from the paradise-like climate, from its position conveniently close to major sea lanes.

It was the latter that made Orb such a problem. The Atlantic Federation could rant and rave about Orb's Coordinator citizens, but that wasn't enough to make a war worthwhile, not after the damage Orb's forces had shown they could inflict. The real reason was that if Orb so chose, it could effortlessly interdict the entire Pacific ocean, or at least the shortest and most convenient sea lanes. If a war was to break out, then Orb sitting on their supply lines to the East Asian Republic and the South African Union with a mighty fleet was not something the Atlantic Federation could afford to tolerate.

Her father had known that. He had known what strategic logic demanded. He had betrayed his nation's neutrality, its ideas, by helping with the G-Weapon project, because it was the only way the Atlantic Federation would stay its hand.

And Orb had burned in any case.

"This place never changes." Cagalli almost jumped at the voice, as Yuna Roma Seiran came strolling up the steps. "It's just like it used to be. It's about time we built them a _proper _memorial."

"Yuna…"

Cagalli was too preoccupied to say so, but there was something almost _offensive _in his carefree manner.

"I thought you'd be here," Yuna went on, smiling too much. "But you really shouldn't go walkabout on your own. Orb may be secure, but you never know in these times." He stepped past her to stand before the memorial.

"If someone could get near Evidence 01," he remarked slyly, "then they can get near you, even in this place." He closed his eyes and bowed his head as if in prayer.

"So, what do you want?" Cagalli demanded, looking out over the azure waters. "You followed me here because you want something, right? Just tell me already."

"My my…" Yuna sighed, finishing his observance. "First, we _must _do something about the way you talk. It's all right for now, but people will be upset if you, the mother of the nation, carry on like that."

"Yuna," Cagalli almost growled.

"All right, all right," Yuna placated, still smiling. "But we should talk in the car. There'll be no eavesdropping there."

There was indeed a limousine waiting for them a short distance away. Cagalli gazed out of the window as the car raced along the coast road, trying to distract herself from Yuna's presence. It was making her uncomfortable.

"I was praying to your father there," Yuna commented mildly. "I made him a solemn pledge." His words made Cagalli look up in surprise, for in Orb such words were not to be taken lightly.

"I pledged," Yuna went on, in all apparent seriousness, "that I'll defend you and Orb with my life."

"Yuna!" Cagalli spluttered, shocked and offended. "That's…!"

"I know it's a bit sudden," Yuna soothed. "But it's been decided that our wedding will take place on the same day as the signing of our new non-aggression pact with the Atlantic Federation. This will show the people and the world that we are united, and working together for the good of the country."

"But, Yuna!" Cagalli protested, raising her hands as if to ward him off. "Wait a second! I haven't even…!" Yuna's blue eyes focussed on her left hand, and the ring that Athrun had given her. His right hand flashed out, grabbing it and holding it fast.

"You're not a child anymore, Cagalli." His voice was all sweet reason, but it made Cagalli feel sick inside. "Too soon, alas." He put his right forefinger on the ring, teasing it up and down her finger. Cagalli wanted to pull her hand away, to slap him and scream at him to stop being so presumptuous, but for some reason she couldn't. Her body seemed to shut down, to freeze like a deer in headlights. Her mind was assailed with a vision of him leaning in closer, holding her down as his slimy tongue forced its way into her mouth, his hands tearing at her blouse…

"We're both Naturals, you see," he went on. "And Orb will come to terms with the Atlantic Federation. Once that's done, we'll be able to talk them and the Eurasians out of the war you so dread." His eyes changed, seeming almost sympathetic.

"It was an impossible dream. He's a Coordinator. You live in completely different worlds."

"Yuna!" Cagalli exclaimed, yanking her hand from his as anger flooded through her. She had known he would say it, but knowing made her no less angry to have to hear it.

"There's no point yelling at me." Yuna's confident smile did not even flicker. "Or would you rather tell the citizens that you're choosing him over me? That you want to ally with the PLANTs against the Atlantic Federation?"

"I never said that!"

"Or perhaps you'll run away?" Yuna almost seemed to be enjoying himself. "And take the name of Athha with you?"

Cagalli wanted to shout, to scream at him, but something inside her kept locking down her voice.

"_Cagalli_," Yuna said, in that tone he probably thought was soothing and gentle, but just made him sound like he was trying to get her into bed. "I _understand_, really I do. I've heard every word you've said about the superpowers, and the war, and I _agree _with you. I _know _that you're telling the truth when you say there's nothing between you and Athrun. But the fact is that the people don't know you as I do. Unless we keep people like Athrun and that brother of yours away, people will make assumptions."

A pause.

"Do you think father and I are doing this because we _like _the Atlantic Federation? Or that we even _respect _it?"

"Yuna…"

"Well we don't. Neither of us have anything against Coordinators in principle, and we trust the Atlantic Federation as far as we can throw it. But it's as father said this morning, we _have _to come to terms with them, or else our country _will _burn again."

"The Atlantic Federation won't listen!" Cagalli protested, almost in tears. "They'll force us to fight, and make weapons! They'll use our country as a base, making us a legitimate target!"

"Oh no they _won't,_ Cagalli." Yuna wagged his finger theatrically, a twinkle in his eyes. "Thanks to an _arrangement _we've come to with our Jovian friends, the Atlantic Federation won't be pushing us around."

"What arrangement?" Cagalli demanded suspiciously. The fear was rising in her again, but this time it was different. It was a cold dread in her stomach, the ice water in her veins.

"I'm sorry father didn't tell you, Cagalli." Yuna actually sounded apologetic. "In his place I would have included you, but you were so busy with all the diplomacy, and you've been out of sorts recently."

"Tell me!" Cagalli snapped, at the end of her tether. Yuna did not reply straight away, but relaxed in his seat, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

"The purchase of a lifetime," he said. "A fully functioning miniature fusion reactor."

Cagalli goggled, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish as she tried to respond.

"That," Yuna went on, still smirking, "and a contract to provide us with the Helium-3 fuel. Between Jovian engines and the right planetary alignments, it shouldn't take more than four years for a shipment to get here, and the experts at Morgenroete tell us that one shipment would fulfil our entire military and civilian needs for seven to ten years. In return we're giving them some quantum computers, and one or two other little items. Oh, and we're giving them _Inari _too, just for somewhere to hang their hats. Nobody actually lives there…I think…and we've contracted the Junk Guild to make it all nice for them."

"Y…Yuna!" Cagalli was horrified. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Can you see it, Cagalli?" Yuna seemed mightily pleased with himself. "Morgenroete tells us they can have a large reactor design ready in no more than a year, and a miniature design in no more than two. Our friends in Copernicus city will be able to provide a little Helium-3 to keep us going in the meantime. In two years or less, Cagalli, our defences will be powered by nuclear fusion. Warships, fortifications, mobile suits, all of it."

"Then," his eyes sparkled. "Once we are impregnable, the British will make their move, and you and I will make a joint statement in support of their secession, and there won't be any violence. Your acerbic friend Lord Sinclair has already promised to wait."

"Are you _insane_!" Cagalli shrieked, finding her voice at last. "The Atlantic Federation will never let you build fusion-powered weapons! They'll attack before you get the chance!"

"The Atlantic Federation will never know," Yuna retorted, almost laughing. "That's why we need to convince them that we're on their side. That's why we need to show that we are united. Our marriage will convince them, and they'll turn their paranoia elsewhere."

Cagalli felt sick. She didn't know what to think, or what to feel. Darkness was rising all about her, closing in to suffocate and blind her.

Yuna's intentions were as obvious as his words. Those clumsy, overbearing courtships, those false words of sympathy, all of it was for nothing more than to make her his property, a trophy wife to prove his manhood and power, to show that he wasn't the highly-strung, oversensitive little boy she had grown up with.

To be his wife would be a living death. For all Yuna's obsession, his desire to possess her, there would be no love. Her only role would be to be his silent ornament and, she shuddered at the thought, to bear his children. She would be in House Seiran's power, silenced and imprisoned, with no hope of escape.

Would Athrun understand? Would he ever forgive her?

And yet, if she did, all the problems she had been wrestling with for the past two years might be solved. If they could just keep the technology exchange secret, then Orb might just be in a position to defend itself against the Atlantic Federation, or any of the superpowers for that matter. With such power, they could resolve the British secession issue, and who knew what else, without bloodshed. The possibilities seemed to hover in front of her, as insubstantial as mist, yet so near as she could almost touch them. It was such an _opportunity_…

But what part would she have in it? What could she do to protect it, to keep it on the right track, as Yuna's wife? What say would she have, while imprisoned in the Seiran mansion?

A desperate plan formed inside her mind, something that might just allow her to square the circle.

"But…"

"Yes?" Yuna asked, still smiling.

"_Athrun…please forgive me._"

"I…don't have anyone…to give me away." As exhausted physically and emotionally as she was, it was easy for Cagalli to keep her voice low and hoarse. "I'd be…so embarrassed."

"Then _choose _someone," Yuna soothed, eyes flashing with triumph. "It's your prerogative after all, _Chief Representative Athha_."

"_You have no idea_," Cagalli thought, her blood boiling in mingled fury and exultation. "_You'll never guess who I'll choose, and even if you do you can't stop me. I'll beat you yet, Yuna Roma Seiran._"

* * *

**That took some doing, I have to say. The only excuse I can offer is sheer exhaustion with my studies and related rigmarole, which is only now out of the way. I will admit I'm getting a little tired of all this political skulduggery and social stuff, but I have to get through it in order to set up the events to come. Fear not, for there'll be plenty of action in future chapters.**

**A main point of this chapter is to continue with Cagalli's anti-chickification regime. There was apparently quite a fan backlash over the way she was handled in Destiny, even though they got to see her in a wedding dress. My intention was to show that Cagalli is marrying Yuna out of utter desperation, seeing it as the only way to achieve her goals. She is, if it wasn't obvious, being taken for a ride, but in her current position, exhausted, isolated, and in despair, even the best of us would grasp at straws. I thought a good way to show her strength would be to have her keep on plotting even then, trying to turn the situation to her advantage, though you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out how that will go. As for Kira, he's going to have to decide between respecting Cagalli's wishes (and trusting her judgement), and saving her from a terrible mistake, even if it means potentially starting a war. **

**As for the Orb houses, as far as I know the other two houses were never officially named. I tried to translate the three canon names in the hope of finding a common theme, but the only one I could translate was Seiran, which can mean 'mountain air' or 'storm out of a calm sky' (a good fit for a WW2 Japanese seaplane, to which it was given). I chose the name 'Kyofu' on the same basis (another Japanese seaplane, otherwise known as 'Rex) meaning 'mighty wind', while Raiun means 'thunder cloud'. Sahaku is apparently a Japanese surname, but I couldn't find a translation for it. **

** My thanks to Zaru for Beta-reading this chapter. **

**Edit - General Garcia's rank changed to Admiral at Wing Zero Alpha's suggestion. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_What does it mean to be a nation?_

_This is a word not easily defined. It is hotly debated among historians and anthropologists, and neither agree a clear definition. It is ill-used by agitators and politicians, for whatsoever definition they see fit to apply. In the eyes of many, for a group of people to call themselves a nation is to cut themselves off from the global community, to draw around themselves a boundary that none may cross in either direction. 'Nation', 'nationality', and 'nation-state' have become dirty words in our times. In times past the nation-state was regarded as the bulwark of democracy, the only proper, effective, and humane means by which states may be organised. Now this concept is mocked, sneered-at, and despised. To modern thought, the nation-state is synonymous with parochialism, smallness of vision, and cruelty both petty and great. _

_For those who would call themselves a nation, this is a harsh reality. For those who find the superpower economic federations not to their liking, it is all too easy to deny the flaws and dangers of nationalism, or else to embrace them in all their wickedness. We have seen this in the Reconstruction Wars, in the risings of the nations, in the bloodshed and misery inflicted in the name of 'purity', or 'national integrity', or whatsoever else. And yet the problem has yet to find a solution. A state must have a boundary, and a citizen must be a citizen of somewhere. Yet if a group of people draw such a boundary around themselves, declaring their land a somewhere of which they are citizens, then they inescapably reject those who stand outside this boundary, in mind, body, and spirit alike._

_How then shall our Orb Union resolve this issue? How then shall our nation, our state, square this harsh circle. The only answer, I believe, lies in the values and ideals to which our nation would adhere. If we believe that nations are not defined by biology alone, then we reject none on the basis of race. If we believe that nations are defined by ideals, laws, and allegiances, then our nationhood may be open to all who share our ideals, who respect our laws, and who give their allegiance. _

_The age of ethnic nationalism is past, and we shed no tears but in pity for its victims. Let us also put aside this word 'nationalism', for in it hides the lingering spectre of hatred and rage. Let us instead embrace a new reality, a new nationhood that shall do honour to our country, and make it a refuge to all humanity, and a joy for the world to behold. _

_Uzumi Nara Athha_

_**Then**_

_**Euphemus, Jupiter, April 14th CE 23**_

They came from him in the morning.

Of course, he didn't actually know it was morning at the time. Imprisoned as he was in that dark place, he had no sense of day or night. He had noticed their presence just after waking up. His eyes fluttered open to see the two guards standing over him.

"On your feet! The Master wants to see you!"

They had taken him like that, out of his rocky cell and into the cold, sterile light of the corridor. Only then had he been able to see them clearly, clad in armoured spacesuits, their faces concealed behind mirror visors. On the left breast of each was a crest, consisting of a letter Z superimposed over an eagle and lightning bolts.

There hadn't been much to see outside of the cell block. The corridors were all sterile, gunmetal grey, not much different from Yggdrasil station back home. There was no one else around, making him wonder if they were the only ones there.

Or else the corridors had been cleared for his passage. Was his presence a secret?

A trip in a transit tube followed, before he was taken through a security checkpoint and a heavy blast door. The guards stopped suddenly, and he felt himself rising as the elevator pad set into the floor ascended.

Then everything changed.

He had often wondered what the inside of an O'Neill Island 3 cylinder would look like. There had been talk of building some back on Earth, but they were still in the planning stages when he left. It had been a pleasure, an honour, to be part of that process, a joy to imagine what living inside one might be like.

Now he could see it clearly, a cylindrical world stretching out before him. The lower half was gleaming silver. Rows upon rows of mirrors, angling the light of the sun towards the upper half, a swirl of blue and green and grey. Wisps of white cloud hovered in the centre.

It wasn't a true O'Neill cylinder, in its configuration or its size. But it was the closest he had ever seen.

"Does it please you, Mister George Glenn?" asked a voice that sounded the creaking of an old wooden cabinet. George glanced around, wondering where the voice had come from. The lights came on around him, revealing a metal-walled chamber with the opposite end still hidden in shadow. The two guards dropped to their knees, and the shadows retreated further.

"Does my visage disturb you, Mister Glenn?"

It took him a moment to register the fact that the thing in front of him was alive and speaking to him. It was…it _might _have been a man, dressed in white and seated upon a throne of the same gunmetal grey as the walls and floor. His skin was wrinkled, and almost translucent. His long hair was of the palest gold, almost white, as thin as spider silk. Masses of tubes snaked from behind the throne and into ports set into his arms and legs and torso, though for what purpose he could not fathom.

Only the eyes indicated that he was alive, and _how_. They were narrow, but so very bright, fixing him with a gimlet stare.

"Yes, I think it does." His lips moved, but there was an electronic timbre as the throne amplified his voice. "It generally does. Not many have lived as long as I have, though as you can see it comes at a price."

"Who…who are you sir?" George heard himself ask, unable to take his eyes off the living fossil.

"I am Solomon Zeus," the antediluvian replied. "Head and CEO of House Zeus of Europa. These," he twitched his right hand and two smaller thrones beside his own, "are my children. Selene, and Nathaniel."

George blinked in surprise. So entranced had he been, that he had not registered the two children. The closer of the two was a girl, maybe ten years old, with reddish-pink hair tied with two black ribbons at the back. She wore a short black dress with a black cape reaching to her waist. Her face was round and delicate, set in an emotionless look. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, the coldest and most calculating he had ever seen.

She was holding the hand of the other child, who was smaller and apparently much younger, maybe four years old. It appeared to be a boy, with hair of a redder shade than his sister's, with bright blue eyes also fixed on him. Nathaniel, if that was who he was, seemed somewhat more childlike than Selene, though his gaze was every bit as intense.

"I suppose you'll be wanting an explanation," Solomon went on," as to where you are, and your sojourn in the prison block."

"Yes," George croaked, his vocal chords still stiff. "I do." Solomon's hand twitched again, and the two guards stood up and stepped back, leaving George alone in the middle of the floor.

"For the first," the old man replied, "you are in the asteroid colony Euphemus, a possession of House Zeus of Europa. For the second, it was so that we could be sure of you."

"Sure of me?" George almost spluttered. "But…but I meant no harm! I was only…!"

"Only curious?" Solomon queried, one white eyebrow rising just slightly. "Only wanting to see who was here? Only going to tell the people back on Earth all about us?"

"I…" George trailed off.

"I see resentment in your eyes," Solomon commented. "I see denial. What I said was not your truth, or at least not the truth you want. But you and I both know that it is the truth of our situation. It would be very…_difficult _for us if the governments of Earth were to discover our existence, at least at this point. We could not afford to trust you until we had learnt as much about you, and your world, as possible."

"The _Tsiolkovsky_," George said. "Where is it?"

"See for yourself." Solomon gestured at the window behind him. George turned to see bright lines intersect across a point in the far distance, at the opposite end of the colony. A video screen flashed into being, superimposing itself over the window, showing a zoomed-in view. He could see the _Tsiolkovksy _there, floating in the zero-gravity centre of the cylinder, surrounded by gantries.

"We were not so foolhardy as to try and dismantle your ship," Solomon went on. "As my father once taught me, never try to dismantle something unless you know for certain which parts are liable to explode. And we can't afford unfortunate accidents involving nuclear reactors inside this colony. Too much important work is done here, and by too many very important and not easily replaceable people. Nevertheless, we were able to learn a great deal about you, and about the world you came from."

"If you've learnt anything about me at all," George retorted. "You'll know that I mean your people no harm, that I didn't come here to harm anyone."

"That was…the conclusion we came to." The old man paused a moment. "Unfortunately, we weren't able to access _all _of your files, at least not yet. Like the technology of your vessel, your data encryption is something to be admired."

"Huh." George laughed ruefully. "So that's why you brought me here. You want me to help you unlock the sealed files. Why exactly should I do that?"

"An honest question," Solomon allowed, "but your conclusion is sadly predictable." He turned towards his children. "Selene, did you teachers tell you about the logical fallacy of the ticking time-bomb?"

"Yes father." Her voice was high and clear. "They did."

"Then why don't you relate it to our guest."

"The scenario posits that a man believed to be a terrorist is captured, and that there is located somewhere a ticking time-bomb. The supposed moral is that it is logical and necessary to torture the supposed terrorist in order to make him reveal the location of the bomb, lest it detonate and kill large numbers of people."

"Very good." Solomon's thin mouth twisted in what might have been a smile. "Now tell our guest _why _this is a logical fallacy."

"The logical failure is that by resorting to torture, the interrogators are admitting that they don't know the bomb's location or how much time remains. The terrorist will therefore have every reason to resist, or to misdirect his interrogators."

"In other words, Mr Glenn," Solomon spoke up. "If I regarded you as my prisoner, or my enemy, I would not have admitted what I just admitted."

"If I'm not your prisoner or your enemy," George retorted tersely. "Then what am I?"

"You are, despite what you might think, a guest." That smile again. "I may as well admit that you are also a very valuable resource, George Glenn the Coordinator." The last word sent a cold shock through his heart.

"So," he replied sourly. "You saw that video."

"Yes." The smile widened. "Your DNA is very…interesting. We learnt a lot from it."

"For what?"

"I'll tell you, at some point, if you agree to what I have to offer."  
"Offer?" George snorted. "Don't tell me you're offering me a job."

"I am. Platitudes about us learning a great deal from one-another aside, you are evidently a person of great ability, and possessed of considerable knowledge and expertise in technology. Such technology would be useful to House Zeus, both for now and for our long term plans. I would like you to assist my scientists and engineers with their current projects." For a few moments George did not reply, stunned by the antediluvian's words.

"Why should I help you?" he demanded suspiciously. "Why should I trust you? You locked me in a cell for God knows how long, with no food but…" He trailed off, his attention returning to the two children. Had it been one of them?

"You can trust me," Solomon replied, "because I trust you, though I admit I can afford to as you are in no position to betray me. As for your imprisonment, I can only insist that I meant you no harm by it." There was silence, but for what sounded like a pumping mechanism inside the throne.

"Fine," George said, with a humph of distaste. "I guess I have no choice. But what's in it for me? What payment, what compensation, can you offer me?"

"The return of your ship, in full working order and fully stocked. Also, any one reward you care to claim." Solomon managed to raise his skeletal right hand. George, seeing no alternative, took it very gingerly. The skin felt like paper.

"Welcome, George Glenn, to Euphemus." Solomon's smile widened into a smirk, his eyes gleaming in triumph. "The fortress of our future."

* * *

_**Now**_

_**Government House, Onamuji Island**_**, **_**Orb Union, October 25th, CE 73**_

"The Martian delegation should be here any minute. They landed an hour ago."

Despite the foreboding she had felt ever since her encounter with Yuna in the car, Cagalli actually felt excited. The Martian colonies were much better known than those of Jupiter, but few outside of the DSSD had even spoken to a Martian, let alone encounter one directly. Even if Gilbert Durandal had beaten her to the punch this time, it was a historic moment nonetheless.

"I'm grateful that you allowed me to accompany you, Chief Representative," replied Daniel brightly. "This is a great opportunity for us too."

Cagalli regarded Daniel for a moment. He was dressed, as usual, in the dark blue dress uniform of the Jovian Royal Guards, with the distinctive red cuffs and collar, and the gold lanyard that marked him as a proven mobile suit pilot. It was a good counterpoint to the white and blue dress uniform she was wearing, creating a sense of shared purpose.

Even without that, she was more than a little glad of his presence. He was one of very few people within easy reach whom she felt she could trust.

"Yes, this is important," she said, partly in reply to what he had said, but also to her own thoughts. "Even with the declaration of friendship with the Atlantic Federation, Orb needs all the friends it can get." She gave Daniel a hopeful smile. "Jupiter included."  
"I saw your speech last night," Daniel replied, smiling in turn. "You made it nobly and well."

"Thank you." Cagalli blushed a little at the compliment. "I was afraid you would take it the wrong way."

"Not at all." His eyes were warm and sincere. "You must do what you feel is necessary, especially in matters of government. My father has always lived by this rule."

"I'm glad you think so."

Cagalli tried to take some comfort in his words, but felt only disquiet. She could not escape from what she was about to do, nor from the role she intended for him to play.

A buzz from her desk intercom drew her attention.

"The Martian delegation has arrived, Chief Representative."

"Okay, send them in." A moment later the door opened, and the Martian delegates strode in.

There were two of them, both young men, their bodies tall and lean. The one in front, apparently the leader, had electric-blue hair reaching to his waist, while his companion's was blond and curly. The leader wore a formal-looking white tunic over a black, high-collared shirt and pants, while the other wore black pants and a black jacket over a blue shirt, covered in turn by a loose white baldric running from his right shoulder to his left waist. The leader's red eyes flickered in momentary surprise as they fell on Daniel, but he kept his composure.

"Welcome, gentlemen." Smiling, Cagalli stood up and strode around her desk to greet them, Daniel following close behind. "I'm Cagalli Yula Athha."

"Agnus Brahe, of the Australis Colony," the leader replied, taking her proffered hand.

"And I'm Nahe Hershell" the companion added, shaking her hand in turn. Taller than Agnus, he had an easy manner that Cagalli found very pleasant.

"Also, I present my good friend and honoured guest." She gestured to Daniel, who stepped up on cue. "His Royal Highness, Prince Daniel of Jupiter."

"An honour, your highness," Agnus said, shaking Daniel's hand in turn. "It's good to meet one of our Jovian brethren at last."

"Thank you for your kind words," Daniel replied, smiling. "I only regret that we were not able to establish contact sooner. We were honestly not aware of any colonies on Jupiter. The last scout ship we sent out there was lost several years ago."

Both Martians reacted, though only for an instant. Cagalli saw something flash across Agnus' face, his eyes momentarily hardening. Daniel sensed it too, and suddenly became nervous.

"I…" Nahe began. "I…that is…I think we found that ship."  
"You did?" Daniel asked.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Cagalli suggested, gesturing towards a coffee table with a sofa along one side and two armchairs along the other. The Martians followed her and Daniel to the table, sitting down on the sofa as she and Daniel took the armchairs.

"You said you had found the _Laocoon_," Daniel pressed, suddenly eager. "I would be grateful for anything you could tell me."

"It is a difficult topic for us," Agnus said, interrupting Nahe before he could continue. Daniel looked crestfallen.

"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable," he said remorsefully. "I understand if you prefer not to speak of it."

"No your highness." Agnus paused, and Cagalli wondered just how bad the tale could be. "The truth must be known, no matter how painful. To tell of it could answer questions for both of our peoples. If you don't mind, Chief Representative."

"Not at all." In truth, Cagalli was more than a little intrigued.

"The ship _Laocoon _was first encountered eight years ago," Agnus began. "It was met in the asteroid belt by a ship from the Olympus Mons colony. We don't know much about what happened, but one of the crew became something of a celebrity among the Olympians. He was known as Kellen, or the _Man from Beyond_."

The room suddenly went very cold. Cagalli glanced at Daniel, and although his face had remained level, she saw the horror in his eyes.

"May I ask…what happened?"

"Kellen claimed to be one of the legendary Founders" Agnus went on, his eyes hard. "Over the years he won the Olympians over and became their leader. He turned their heads with talk of dreams and aspirations. At first he told them that they were a great people, deserving of power, prosperity, and respect. Then he told them that they were the _greatest _people, and that they deserved to dominate Mars and become its leaders. They became deluded and arrogant, even claiming that they had travelled beyond the asteroid belt to bring Kellen back. We of Australis knew this to be a lie, for one of our ships was present when the meeting took place, but the Olympians persisted in their lies. Then, four years ago, they attacked and overran Acheron colony. It was only the first."

He fell silent, and cleared his throat.

"The Olympians had launched a war of conquest against the whole of Mars," he went on. "Only after Australis formed an alliance with other colonies were we able to drive them back."

There was a pause. Daniel cleared his throat in turn.

"May I ask…what became of him?"

"Kellen escaped during the final battle," Agnus said coldly. "We don't know where he went, but he left Olympus Mons in ruins."

"I…can only offer my most profound regret," Daniel replied, his voice hoarse. "When we cast him out of our Kingdom, we had no conception that such a thing could happen."

"Don't blame yourself, your highness." Agnus' countenance was cold and tightly controlled, but Cagalli thought he seemed sincere. "The Olympians paid for their own delusions. We harbour no bitterness towards the people of Jupiter over this tragedy."

"I'm certainly glad to hear that," Cagalli spoke up, and she was. "I had hoped this would be an opportunity for our three nations to meet in friendship. This is not a time to make new enemies."

"That was our hope also," Agnus said. "But I understand that things have been difficult recently. Are we not causing you trouble by coming at this time?"

"Actually, you couldn't have come at a better time," Cagalli insisted. "The Jovian delegation was also here, and it'll be difficult for me to go out for a while."

"Any particular reason for that?" Nahe asked. Cagalli took a moment to gather herself.

"I'm getting engaged to a member of the Seiran family," she said. "I may as well admit that it's for political reasons, but I feel that it's for the best. It will show to the world that Orb's rulers are united."

"_And who are you trying to convince?" _asked a voice inside her. "_Them, Daniel, or yourself?_"

"I see," Agnus said, after a short pause. "On behalf of our Martian brothers and sisters, I offer my congratulations."

"Thank you." She managed to smile, deciding to accept the compliment in the spirit in which it was given.

She only hoped she could keep it up.

* * *

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaumph!"

The spoonful of brightly coloured ice cream vanished into Ninin Pulu-Lemo's mouth. She drew it out through a wide grin, and dug it once again into the heaped confection.

"How can you eat that stuff?" Damien Valorum complained, watching her with a sour look on his face. "I'd throw up if I ate that much sugar!"

"Too bad!" Ninin retorted, sticking her tongue out. "I can eat all the yummy desert I want, and you're just an old sourpuss!"

"Who're you calling old?!" Damien snarled back, irritated.

"Calm yourselves," Hannon Gable cut in, taking a sip of his tea. "Don't make a scene." Damien controlled himself, remembering where he was.

The dining hall was as palatial as the rest of the building. It was almost full, the round tables occupied by a mixture of functionaries and military types. Damien had brightened up an otherwise dull mealtime by exchanging glances with a cluster of young ladies in Orb military uniforms. He was fairly certain they were checking him and Hannon out, and he liked it.

He would like it a lot more if he wasn't sitting next to an overgrown child inhaling a small mountain of ice cream and god-knew-what else. The scene was Ninin Pulu-Lemo all in one. Aged fifteen, looked ten, acted five.

"What're we doing here anyway?" he asked irritably. "Aren't we supposed to be spying on the meeting?"

"Remind me never to involve you in genteel espionage ever again," Hannon replied sourly. "Ninin's handling the surveillance."  
"I am!" Ninin proclaimed happily. "I know everything that's going on in there!"

"Oh ya do, do ya?" Damien drawled. Ninin lowered her spoon.

"I am certain the parliament will agree." The voice was hers, but the syntax wasn't. "If we consider that…"

"Quit that!" Damien hissed, shivering. "Don't ever do that! It really creeps me out!"

"See!?" Ninin beamed in triumph. "So shut up and drink your hot mud sludge!"

"It's called _coffee_. It's what _grownups _drink."

And that was another thing. Damien had gotten used to drinking coffee in his teens, but could still remember a time when it was a luxury. The end of the final war, and the declaration of the Kingdom, had come in the year of his birth. He had grown up with comforts the likes of which his parents, and their parents, and even _their _parents could only have dreamed. Vat-meat, rice, even vegetables every day, with real meat maybe once or twice a week. He'd slept in his own room, with his own vid-screen. He'd been educated in a school, and played in public parks, the colony looming vast and distant around him, so near and yet so far.

Now here he was in Orb, the Land of Peace, a country that seemed to want for nothing. Foodstuffs were shipped in from all over the Earth, things he had never heard-of, let alone tasted. Since their arrival he had attended enough fancy dinners to last a lifetime, serving faire he would not soon forget. And the rest of the time, the staff would bring him just about whatever he asked for, whenever he asked for it.

And the _clothes_. Those Orb forces girls were wearing _skirts_ as part of their uniforms. He had seen Jovian civilians in skirts, but no women in the military ever wore one. And even with synthetic fibres and dyes increasingly available, styles back home tended to be at best simple, at worst drab. Yet Orb seemed to be a riot of colour, with clothes of every conceivable style and size, made of any number of fabrics. He had seen women walking around practically naked, though not without reason, for Orb was swelteringly hot.

The food and the clothes were the first things he'd noticed, but not the last. The music, movies, and TV shows he had found on the vid-screen in his room, the video games and gadgets he'd seen advertised.

Hannon had gone on about more high-minded cultural things he wanted to see, like works of art and really old buildings. Damien had looked some of them up on the net, and learned that those things were indeed old.

Very, very old.

He had found it hard to comprehend just how old human civilization was, even now as he sat amid the planet that was its cradle. Some of those old buildings Hannon had been going on about were hundreds, even thousands of years old. _Thousands_. The Kingdom of Jupiter was just over a century old, yet Earth boasted cultures centuries or millennia old, or at least the junk they left behind.

So _vast_. So _brilliant_. So _old. _

What could Jupiter offer compared to all that? How could colonies, even the massive O'Neill cylinders, compare to open skies and warm sunshine? What was rust-orange Jupiter compared to the blue Earth? Would the others up on the _Jovian _dawn feel this way?

Would they even want to leave?

Damien shook the thoughts away. The Jovians had made a world for themselves in the frigid void, while the Terrans lived easily. They were not the lesser people. They had no need of Terran pity or charity.

"_How about their women_?"

"You're sulking again," Hannon commented. "What is it this time?"

"Oh, uh, nothing." Then he remembered. "Oh yeah, I looked up on that song Daniel was always listening to."

"Oh yes?"

"It was by some chick called Lacus Clyne," Damien went on. "She was this really huge pop singer based up in the PLANTs. Apparently her father was one of the former Chairmen, Siegel Clyne."  
"I see," Hannon mused. "If she was a famous singer, I suppose it's no surprise we picked up a transmission from her. What's become of her?"

"That's just it, no one knows. She got involved in trying to stop the war, then just dropped off the world after Jachin Due. Everything after that's just rumours. A lot of her fans think she's living in hiding with some guy named Kira Yamato."

"I've heard of him," Ninin spoke up, gesturing with her spoon. "He was a battlepod ace in the war, but no one knows what happened to him."

"It's too bad," Damien commented. "I thought we could set up a meeting for Daniel. Besides, it looks like this Kira Yamato guy beat him to it."

"Poor Dan-dan," Ninin commented sympathetically. "Oh well, he's got us!"

* * *

_**Central Spaceport complex, Onamuji Island. **_

Night had fallen.

Erica Simmons gazed up into the ebony black of the sky, eyes straining for any sign. There was none to be found. All she saw was the twinkling of distant stars.

The spaceport around them was shrouded in darkness, but for a few lights and the glare of the other landing strips. The shuttle they were waiting for would be guided in by laser beams, invisible to the naked eye yet visible through the pilot's helmet visor, the sound of the landing masked by the constant rumble and roar of the spaceport. The Prime Minister had insisted on secrecy, and this was about the only way to do it.

It was a warm night, but Erica could not help but feel a shiver of anticipation. If what her superiors at Morgenroete had told her was true, the shuttle was carrying something of great scientific and engineering interest. If she knew her superiors, she knew that it was also a matter of national security. After a lifetime working for a major arms contractor, she had gotten used to it.

She turned and strolled back towards the hangar, deciding to check everything again. She had done so three times already, but it was something to do.

In contrast to the darkness outside, the hangar was brightly-lit, the lights rigged so as to minimalize the glare. The truck stood at the back of the hangar, its back-end open and facing her, ready to receive what the shuttle would bring. The cargo that had arrived in it had already been unloaded. The cargo container stood by the truck, along with the power-lifter that had unloaded it. Within the heavy-duty container, behind doors sealed and code-locked, lay Morgenroete's treasures, ready for trade.

Erica scanned her eyes over the half-dozen people hanging around the truck. Their coveralls and caps marked them as Morgenroete employees, and she knew some of them by name. They were members of her team, responsible for the most secret work. They were young, and enthusiastic. Just like _they _had been.

Juri Wu Nien. Asagi Caldwell. Mayura Labatt.

Three names engraved on the war memorials. Three among countless others, yet engraved upon her heart.

She had been told, time and time again, that she was not responsible for their deaths. They had felt the need to tell her, because they knew something of how it felt. She had designed the M1 _Astray. _She had selected those three girls to be its test pilots. She had allowed them to go into battle. Though she was more than satisfied that the _Astray _had not let them down, she could not help but feel responsible.

By some curious logic, her thoughts turned to her son, Ryuta. Tinging her excitement at what was to come was a mingled feeling of guilt and irritation. She had wanted to be home that night. She had wanted to be with her husband and son, to eat dinner with him and put him to bed. Her workload hadn't been quite as heavy recently as it had been a year earlier, but she still treasured every opportunity her schedule allowed.

Morgenroete would be busy again, and soon. They wanted the new item reverse-engineered, and quickly. Considering what they were handing over in return for it, Erica wasn't surprised.

She glanced around, looking for the odd-man-out among them. A moment later she spotted him, a young mad clad in a dark suit, talking on a phone. He had a black dossier under his arm. Erica wondered what it contained, what his business there was, but all she had gotten from him was his name and who had sent him.

Alwin Kuroshitsu, whose ID identified him as a member of the Prime Minister's staff.

Erica had to admit it was intriguing. He had claimed he was only there to make sure the handover went smoothly, but a part of her was convinced that something deeper was afoot.

She was about to give him one last poke as he lowered his phone, until a rumble drew her attention back to the runway. Wondering if it was what she thought it was, she headed back towards the entrance.

Sure enough, she could see the shuttle descending, a black shape cut out of the night sky. The rumble became a roar as the shadow grew larger and larger. Erica glanced at the runway, at the laser projectors that lined it in place of the landing lights, and prayed that the pilot could see them properly. If he couldn't, then things would get very unpleasant any moment. She watched the shuttle coming down, closer and closer, her heart pounding.

Then the tension turned to disbelief as the shadow seemed to _slow down_. Erica watched, entranced, as the Jovian shuttle descended. As it drew closer, the backwash buffeted her in a gust of hot wind. She could just make out the air rippling about its underside as the shuttle eased itself down onto the runway, just outside the hangar. Erica backed away, keeping her eyes on the dark blue shuttle as it turned and rolled into the hangar under its own power, its wings folding in.

As it came to a halt inside, Erica Simmons got her first up-close look at a Jovian _Tonans _class assault shuttle. The fuselage was long and slender, about sixty metres long, with its wings set just shy of halfway along, a configuration she found quite curious. The forward quarter just before the wings was raised slightly above the main fuselage, giving the shuttle a vaguely avian look. The engines were set under the wings, two on each side, the variable-geometry nozzles aimed straight down.

Though Erica's interest was primarily as an engineer, she could not keep her eyes away from the small turrets set into the sides, arranged two forward, two rear-facing, or from the beam cannons set into the bases of the wings. Whatever other roles it might perform, it was first and foremost a war machine.

Erica watched for a few minutes as the engines powered down. Once they were down to a safe level, the hangar doors rumbled shut. The front hatch opened, lowering to form a ramp, and a cluster of blue-uniformed Jovians strode down. As they drew closer, Erica could make out their rank insignia. The epaulettes marked the tall man on the right as a command rank officer, while the gold stars at his collar marked him as a Commander. The man on his left had no epaulettes, but shoulder-boards lined in silver, and with three silver stars at his collar, marking him as a lieutenant. The four men behind wore the plain blue uniforms of enlisted men.

"Commander Illumina Ark, of the _Jovian Dawn,_" the officer on the right introduced himself, saluting smartly. "This is Lieutenant Kyme." The lieutenant saluted in turn.

"Senior Engineer Erica Simmons, Morgenroete," Erica answered in kind, shaking his white-gloved hand.

"Alwin Kuroshitsu, of the Prime Minister's office," Alwin said likewise. "I represent the government's interests."

Erica took a moment to examine the commander. His face was narrow and lantern-jawed, with a pronounced widow's peak of black hair visible under the rim of his blue beret. His eyes were small and dark, showing nothing of the man behind them. Erica saw a line of coloured insignia over his left breast, apparently the non-dress version of his decorations, though she had no idea of what the individual insignia meant. Was he a hardened combat officer? Or had he merely served for a long time and in many places? Either way, something about him told Erica he hadn't earned them for making coffee or sucking up to superiors.

"We have brought the cargo as specified," Ark said primly. "I trust you have done likewise?"

"We have, Commander," Erica replied, beating Alwin to it. "It's ready for inspection, though we'll be wanting to inspect your cargo also."

"Of course." Ark nodded to Kyme, who muttered something into his comm earpiece. A series of clunks resounded from inside the shuttle. A dark blue power-lifter reversed down the ramp, leading a cargo sled to which a heavy-looking object was securely strapped. It came to a halt in the open.

"Well, we made it this far," Erica quipped. "Why don't you check our merchandise first?" She gestured towards the cargo container, and the Jovians followed as she strode over. It was a matter of a moment to swipe her ID card and type in the code, the double doors unlocking with a clunk.

"This," she gestured at an ovoid of black metal, "is Morgenroete's MSR-9 integrated combat sensor and control package. Multi-phase, multi-spectral, multi-mode. Scan and track up to four hundred k, N-Jammer resistant to one hundred. This child is going in the _Murasame_'s head next upgrade cycle. Gentlemen of Jupiter, you will find _nothing _match it this year or the next."

Erica regarded her 'customers'. Their faces were professionally expressionless, but she had attended enough sales pitches to know they were interested.

"And this," she gestured to a large black briefcase, "is one of our latest quantum computers." She flipped the briefcase open to reveal a silver oblong, its upper side consisting almost entirely of a single screen. "One of our finest creations." She gave them a meaningful look. "I trust this meets your satisfaction?"

"It does," Ark replied. "But we were also promised the schematics."

"They're right here." Erica patted her breast pocket, feeling the hard plastic of the disc box. "But if it's okay with you, I'd like to see your end first." She shot him a smile. The commander did not react, but gestured for her to follow. Her subordinates fanned out around the sled, examining the device from all angles. Erica felt her heart pounding as took in the configuration. It didn't look all that much different to the _Freedom_'s nuclear fission reactor. Could it be…?

"Zeus Concern Mark 1 ultracompact fusion reactor," confirmed Lieutenant Kyme. "Fully integrated, with option for thruster nozzles. Standard output of 20 Megawatts."

Erica barely heard him. She had heard the rumours, but had never expected to find herself staring at an actual fusion reactor. If this was indeed the real thing, it explained why Morgenroete was willing to give away so much.

She glanced around, looking for Commander Ark. He and Alwin stood a few metres away, their backs to her. Even with her Coordinator's hearing, she could only make out a faint mumbling, and what might have been the faintest rustle of paper. She supposed it might be the paperwork, but then why keep it from her like that?

She shrugged inwardly, deciding to dismiss the matter for now. She had not enjoyed a long and successful career by poking her nose in where it wasn't wanted.

At least, not so blatantly as that.

* * *

_**Government House, Onamuji Island, Orb Union, October 26th CE 73 **_

With a clunk, the double doors were opened.

"The Chief Representative of the Orb Union! Accompanied by his Royal Highness, Prince Daniel of Jupiter!"

Daniel did his best to keep his face level as he strode through the doors beside Cagalli. Beyond the door the parliament chamber stretched out and away from him, climbing up in rising hemicycles. The hemicycles were packed with the men and women of the Orb legislature, all of them on their feet, their applause rumbling in his ears. As Cagalli took her place at the podium, Daniel took his pre-arranged place at her right hand, with Ambassador Brand and his companions taking up position behind him. Yuna Roma Seiran pointedly took the place at her left, with his father and various officials standing a little way behind. Daniel knew by then that they were all part of the Seiran faction, being either relations of that family or beneficiaries of their patronage. Their presence was almost certainly a show of force, a reminder to those present that House Seiran was in the ascendant.

He found it distinctly unsettling, and quite alien. Back home, there was no great family, no ruling faction, in that sense. The Royal family consisted of himself and his father, who sat at the very apex of the political pyramid. The Parliament, the Judiciary, the Civil Service, and the military all derived their authority from the Crown, making them essentially equal. The politicians had the power to make laws and to overturn his father's veto by three-quarters vote, but could not interfere in matters of justice beyond that. By the same token they could make policy, but could not interfere directly in the day-to-day running of the machinery of state, or in that of the armed forces. The King could make laws and policy with the help of his cabinet, but under a crucial clause in the constitution was required to put any such matter before the Parliament, as if it were any other bill. It had become a courteous custom to give any Royal bill the utmost priority, and his father obliged by not troubling them with anything but the most serious matters.

It had broadly worked for many decades, far longer than Daniel had been alive. It had worked so well, in fact, that it had been applied to Jovian space as a whole, with the ending of the Ionian War. Nevertheless, Daniel had grown up with the unsettling knowledge that it depended to a great extent on the ability of the King. It was not necessarily that the King needed to be a great politician or soldier, for the law-making and bureaucratic mechanisms were broad and open enough to cover for it. What a King of Jupiter needed more than anything was good judgement and an impartial mind, the ability to stand above the issues and controversies of the day, and to come to the best possible decision.

Daniel hoped with all his heart that he would be able to live up to that ideal, that he could find it in himself to look at the facts with cold-blood and an open mind, no matter what was in his heart. What he feared, more than anything, was to fail in that object. The thought that he might make the wrong decision frightened him, almost as much as the thought of being hated by his own people for it.

He glanced at Cagalli, standing at the podium with all the dignity and poise she could muster. Was the same thought going through her head? Was she bound by that same knowledge, that same sense of responsibility, that had always bound him?

He could believe it. He had known her for only a few weeks, but had seen a noble spirit in her words and deeds. She was not as stern as his father, or as regal. Her heart was not pure, for he knew from the testimony of others that she had suffered too much for that. But he knew that her heart was true, for the spirit he saw in her was as sincere as it was noble. Everything she did as Chief Representative, he knew in his heart, was meant for the good of her people.

Which made what she was about to do even harder to bear.

"Members of the Legislature, honoured guests," Cagalli began. "Our nation stands in the midst of an international crisis. Mere weeks ago, a force of as-yet unidentified terrorists sought to end all life on this planet. By the combined efforts of ZAFT, and of our newly-arrived cousins of Jupiter," she gestured at Daniel, "this tragedy was averted by the smallest of margins."

"Even before then," she went on, her voice booming across the chamber. "Our world was in dire peril of war, and remains so. The enmity between the Atlantic and Eurasian Federations, where once there was unity and peace, remains a threat to the safety and happiness of all humanity. Let no one deny or play down the danger. A war between these mighty powers, coming so soon after the horror of the Bloody Valentine war, would bring about the final and irrevocable desolation of our world, the destruction of human civilization. My father, Uzumi Nara Athha, made his name as a bringer of peace to whichever hearts were open to it. As his daughter, I cannot do any less than my best to prevent this dire event." There was a rumble of apparently sincere applause. Daniel wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Yuna yawn.

"But I must also tell you of better news, and happier tidings. Despite the danger all around us, our nation stands on the cusp of a new and better era. This very day we have received word from his Majesty King Nathan of Jupiter, and the Parliament of his people. They have, wholeheartedly, added their names to a declaration of friendship between our two nations." There was more applause. Daniel could not help but feel a little uncomfortable, for the ambassador had made the reality of this declaration quite clear. Even if it was not compared to the secret treaty they had signed the night before, in which Orb had forked over an entire colony, such declarations tended to say a lot and mean little in practice. Cagalli seemed to be milking it for all it was worth.

"It is fitting, therefore, as nations are bound together in friendship," Cagalli went on, "to speak of a binding together within our nation." She paused, and it seemed to Daniel that she was steeling herself for what was to come. Beside her, Yuna's smile was growing wider and wider.

"This bond shall be a bond of marriage, between the most noble Houses of Athha and of Seiran. For I, Cagalli Yula Athha, have consented to give my hand to Yuna Roma Seiran, heir of that name." She reached out her hand, slipping it into Yuna's own, held up so that the whole chamber could see. The applause rolled across the chamber like thunder. Daniel forced himself to do likewise, suppressing his irritation at the look of utter, undisguised triumph on Yuna Roma's face. He would have thought that someone of his high position would behave with more grace.

As the last of the applause faded, Cagalli turned and strode up to him. Daniel took a moment to gather himself as she reached into her jacket pocket and drew out what looked like a signet ring.

"This ring of the House of Athha belonged to my father," she said, her voice clear and remarkably strong. "Had he a son, it would have gone to him." Daniel's heart skipped a beat as she held it out to him.

"I offer it to you, Jupiter's firstborn son, as a token of our commitment to the treaty signed here today, and to ask of you a favour." She paused, and the tension in the chamber palpably rose.

"Prince Daniel," she continued. "In place of my martyred father, will you be as a father to me on the day of my wedding? Will you give me away?"

It was all Daniel could do not to flinch. He could feel hundreds of eyes boring into him, and could almost hear the hum of the cameras. He had to react, and quickly. He had to do something, _say _something, lest his silence be taken for something sinister.

"Chief Representative," he said, using the respite to gather himself, and bowed low. "It would be my honour."

For a few moments there was silence as he allowed Cagalli to slip the ring onto his finger. The chamber erupted in applause, and even cheers, as the ring slid into place, and Cagalli reached up to kiss his cheek.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" Yuna gushed, seemingly overjoyed. "What an honour!"

The other Seirans were applauding too, but their smiles seemed just a _little _forced.

"_What do you mean by this, Cagalli?_" Daniel thought. "_What are you really planning?_"

* * *

_**Supreme Council building, Aprilius One PLANT, October 26th CE 73**_

As the image was replayed for the fifth time, Gilbert Durandal reached for the intercom.

"Mister Chairman?"

"I am expecting Mister Alex Dino tonight. Inform me when he arrives, and send him straight in."

"Yes Mister Chairman."

"I didn't know he had an appointment," commented the voice of an angel from the sofa.

"He will when he sees this," Gilbert replied, still smiling.

"This was your plan?" his creation asked, standing up from the sofa, her divine form silhouetted in the darkness. "You knew this would happen?"

"I confess I merely suspected it." Gilbert sat back in his seat. "It is nevertheless highly convenient. I was afraid I might have to work on him for some time."

"You could have let me do it." The girl sashayed into the light, long pink hair bouncing behind her. "I'm sure I can win him over."

"You were my fall-back option," Durandal half-lied. The vision before him, his living facsimile of Lacus Clyne, was good enough to fool just about anyone. Alas, they were dealing with one of the very small number of people whom she could not so easily sway. Those who had known the Songstress of Peace personally were always going to be a problem, especially with the _actual _Lacus still running free.

"_Oh_!" the faux-Lacus pouted. "Don't you have confidence in me, _Mister _Chairman?"

Gilbert smiled indulgently. She could try all she wanted, but she wouldn't get anything out of him _that _way. His heart had been given long ago, and not for anything she could do better.

"I have complete confidence in you, _Miss Clyne_. You have surpassed my expectations."

"Then why am I still in here?" the false Lacus asked petulantly. "I'm going to have to debut sooner or later! Why is this taking so long?"

"Because the time isn't quite right yet." Gilbert momentarily thought of snapping at the girl, but decided against it. He had a good working relationship with her, all things considered, and it would gain him nothing to foul the atmosphere at this early stage. There would be time for harsh measures later, if that was what it came down to.

"Now, _Lacus,_" he pressed, ever so gently. "You _did _say you would follow my lead, didn't you? You did say you would trust my judgement, didn't you?"

"All right," Lacus replied with a pout. "I'm just getting tired of waiting, that's all."

"If it's any comfort, it won't be for much longer," Durandal reassured her, smiling inwardly at the thought of what he was about to reveal. "I have received word from the _Jovian Dawn _that their business in Orb should be concluded within a fortnight. They have also accepted my invitation for a state visit immediately after that."

"They're coming?!" The fake Lacus clapped her hands, bouncing on her feet like a little girl. "I'm going to meet the Prince?!"

"I've decided on a private party in the Evidence 01 chamber. Aside from the Jovians, everyone there will either be in on my little plan, or else will think that I have lured Lacus Clyne back to the PLANTs. It'll be a good opportunity to ask the Jovians some questions, and for you and Prince Daniel to…get acquainted."

"I'm going to meet Prince Daniel!" the fake Lacus sang, bouncing from one foot to the other. "I'm going to meet Prince Daniel!" Gilbert wondered for a moment if she had heard a word he had said, and then the intercom buzzed.

"Mister Alex Dino is on his way in, Mister Chairman."

"Very well, thank you." Lacus managed to compose herself in time for the doors to slide open and a very angry-looking Athrun Zala to stride in.

"Ah, Athrun," Gilbert began, standing up to welcome his guest, switching to a concerned demeanour as he drew closer. "Are you all right?"

"No I'm not…!" Athrun snarled, then managed to contain himself. "I…I'm sorry, Mister Chairman. I just…"

"Won't you sit down, Athrun?" Gilbert asked, playing the sympathetic host.

"Thank you, Mister Chairman, but I'd rather stand."

"Very well." Gilbert sat back down. Athrun shot a glance at Lacus, then returned his gaze to a point somewhere in the middle of the desk. His brow was furrowed, his fists clenching and unclenching with a dark, simmering energy.

"It's a pleasure to see you, of course," Gilbert began fulsomely. "But what brings you to me so late in the day? I daresay it has something to do with the announcement a few moments ago?"

"It…" Athrun trailed off again. Gilbert wondered at the maelstrom behind the normally taciturn young man's eyes. Was it truly that important? Did his feelings really run that deep?

"Mister Chairman," Athrun eventually managed to say. "If your offer is still open…I have come to accept."

"Really?" Gilbert resisted the urge to impersonate the Cheshire Cat. "Are you sure you don't want to think it over some more? You _are _in a rather agitated state."  
"Mister Chairman I…!" Athrun _almost _erupted again. "I've had a lot to think about." An air of sorrow and shame came over him all of a sudden. Gilbert saw the worried look on the faux-Lacus' face, and began to wonder if it was genuine.

"Athrun, are you doing this because of the Chief Representative?" Athrun's face snapped up, his eyes meeting with Gilbert's own. In that brief moment of contact, Gilbert knew he was right.

"It's not just that, Mister Chairman," Athrun admitted, deflating. "I can't go back, not now. The best I can expect is to be refused entry, at worst to be shot down."

"Athrun, I was not aware of the depth of your feelings for the Chief Representative," lied Gilbert. "But I'm fairly certain she isn't doing this of her own free will."

"No, Mister Chairman," Athrun insisted. "She's not being forced. They wouldn't go that far."

"Perhaps I should say that it's not her free _choice_," Gilbert corrected himself mildly. "There is a significant difference between the two. Doubtless she believes that what she is doing is in the best interests of Orb, and indeed of the whole Earth Sphere."

"But the Seirans are just using her!" Athrun protested. "They'll use her to take control of Orb and then take it straight into the Earth Alliance! It was everything she was trying to avoid!" Athrun lowered his head, his eyes squeezed shut. Lacus put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"And yet…"

Athrun could not bring himself to answer, but Gilbert knew it already.

"You're still not quite ready to put on a ZAFT uniform," he answered for him. "You feel you would not be welcome, despite whatever Group Commander Joule might have promised. You also fear that it would represent a clean and final break with Orb. Am I right?" Athrun did not reply.

"As it happens, Athrun, I agree that it would not be a good idea for you to re-enter ZAFT, at least not openly." He paused as Athrun glanced up in surprise.

"Group Commander Joule means well," Gilbert went on. "But he is not ZAFT. It is likely that your return would cause rancour in certain quarters, and it is likely to be misinterpreted in others, especially in the political sphere."

"Then, what exactly do you have in mind, Chairman?" Athrun asked, his voice a little hoarse. "You said you wanted to give me the _Saviour, _but the council won't let you just hand it over to a civilian."

"Indeed they won't." Gilbert allowed his smile to widen. "That's why you will be handling it in your capacity as a freelance test pilot."

"A military contractor?"

"Yes. The paperwork will all be in order, and it would be an excuse for you not to enlist."

"Sir," Athrun replied, surprised. "That…isn't normal policy."

And it wasn't. Despite its pretentions, ZAFT had not been above making use of mercenaries and private contractors, even if they happened to be Naturals and ostensibly citizens of Earth Alliance member states. Many of the smaller countries had propped up their economies by providing mercenaries, Britain and Japan being among the best-known, but the global military labour market was vast and diverse. Experience could not be genetically-engineered, and mercenaries had proven quite helpful in some difficult environments.

But ZAFT policy had always been for directly contracted mercenaries to wear ZAFT uniform and be written up as ZAFT soldiers. The exception had been the mercenary armies of the African Community, who had strictly-speaking been allies, though under ZAFT command in joint operations.

"I'm _changing _the policy," Gilbert replied. "Besides, this is merely for the look of the thing. Everyone will likely assume that you are a member of the Special Forces under my command, so we may as well take advantage of it."

"I will have…independence?" Athrun asked, suspicion in his eyes.

"Up to a point." Gilbert reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out the contract. "It will not be practicable for you to take the _Saviour _and go where you please. Under the terms of your contract," he slid it across the table for Athrun to read, "you will be attached to the _Minerva_ and subject to the authority of Captain Talia Gladys. As a member of FAITH she'll have the authority to maintain you as an independent operative."  
FAITH, otherwise known as Fast Acting Integrate Tactical Headquarters, was one of ZAFT's new features. Separate from the Special Forces, members of FAITH were free agents, subject to no one but the incumbent Chairman or a fellow FAITH member of higher rank. They could act independently, plan operations, and even give orders on their own initiative. It was a very select distinction, having only been awarded to a few dozen individuals of proven ability and character.

"Of course," Gilbert went on, "I would advise you to be considerate of those you'll be sharing the _Minerva _with. The autonomy I'm giving you is unlikely to be universally popular, so you'll have to work a little harder to prove yourself."

"I understand, Chairman." Lacus bounced on her heels as Athrun took Gilbert's proffered pen and signed the contract.

"Excellent." Gilbert allowed his smile to widen as he stood up and reached out his hand. "Welcome aboard, Test Pilot Athrun Zala." Athrun took his hand after only a moment's hesitation.

"Now," he said, sitting back down. "If there's nothing else for the moment, I believe Miss Clyne has something to ask you."

"Have you eaten yet?" Lacus asked enthusiastically. "I've booked a table for two in the penthouse at your hotel! No cameras I promise!"

"Well I…"

"Great! After all, we are fiancées, right?"

Gilbert chuckled as the fake Lacus dragged a protesting Athrun out of the office.

* * *

Despite the circumstances, Athrun had to admit that it was a nice setting.

The room selected by whoever-it-was was indeed in the hotel's penthouse. It was quite large, more so than was entirely necessary, offering a fine view of the city below. There was also a very large ornamental fountain in the middle of the room, which to Athrun seemed rather extravagant.

He was in a nice room, seated at a fully laid table, complete with flowers and a single candle, opposite a young woman who for some reason looked exactly like his former fiancée, only a few hours after he had learned that his new fiancée, and love of his life, had just ditched him for a marriage of convenience with her own cousin. Alone.

Awkward.

Athrun supposed he should have put up more of a fight. He should have torn his arm from her grasp, shouted at her to get off his case, then stormed back to his room, locked the door, and spent a restless night brooding over what he had lost.

Maybe it was because he had known it might happen. Maybe it was because he had always suspected it, always feared it. He loved Cagalli, and at times could believe that she loved him back. But she was the Chief Representative, and he the self-made orphan of a genocidal madman, an exile with nothing to his name but the skill of his hands and the quickness of his mind.

And maybe it was also because he knew why she had done it.

"Athrun, do you prefer the meat, or the fish?"

The words drew Athrun from his reverie. He looked up, and saw the false Lacus looking at him expectantly.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat. "Who…are you?" The false Lacus looked momentarily surprised, then seemed to recover.

"Meer," she said, cheerfully. "Meer Campbell. But make sure you call me Lacus when we're around other people, okay?"

Athrun stared at her, his eyes taking in her features, seeking for some flaw, some difference by which he could tell her from the real Lacus. Contrary to rumour, Coordinators did not possess multi-spectral vision. But Athrun could still examine her in detail, even from the opposite side of the table. The line of her throat, the curvature of her cheeks, even the way the light shone on her.

Perfect. No, not _quite _perfect. The shade of her eyes was just a little off, slightly darker than Lacus' own. Aside from that, her similarity to the original was marred only by a pair of wide though by no means unhealthy hips, twinned with the most distracting bosom he had ever encountered.

How had they done it? How had Durandal made her _so _alike?

It couldn't have been reconstructive surgery. Athrun had seen a fair few cases during the last war, and had marvelled at the miracles the surgeons performed. But as miraculous as they were, the faces they had mended were never as they had been before, never 'good as new'. There had always been ways of telling, little signs to look for.

There were no such signs on Meer's face.

The starters were brought, and the pair ate in awkward silence.

"The truth is, I've always been a big fan of Miss Lacus," Meer finally said. "I used to love singing her songs, and people started saying I sounded like her. Then one day the Chairman called for me."

"So that's how you started doing this?"

"Yes! Chairman Durandal told me he needed my strengths. For the sake of the PLANTs.

"He doesn't need _your _strengths," Athrun said sourly. "He needs Lacus' strengths." Meer paused at his words, her head lowered.

"I know," she said, a little defensively. "But for now…" She paused again, and glanced out of the window.

"No, not just for now. Miss Lacus' strengths will always be needed, by everyone."

Athrun opened his mouth to speak, then noticed she was looking at her own reflection. Or rather Lacus' reflection.

"She's strong, beautiful, and kind too," Meer went on wistfully. "I'm just Meer. No one needs me."

Athrun wanted to say something, to cry out in denial, in protest. But nothing would come.

"But I don't mind if it's just for now." Meer suddenly brightened, the sparkle returning to her eyes. "If I can be of help to the Chairman, and everyone else. And I'm really glad I got to meet you, Athrun. I imagine you know a lot about Miss Lacus. Would you mind telling me about her?"

Athrun didn't know what to say. The hamster wheel that was his mind had long since jumped its housing and rolled away across the floor. A part of him yearned to fight it, to tell the girl in front of him that she was confused, that what she was doing was wrong, both in general and for herself. The idea that she could just become someone else, throwing away everything she had ever been, offended something deep in his soul.

Could anyone want to be Lacus Clyne _that _badly? Could her life have been so bad that to throw it away had been no loss? What was she running away from?

What was _he _running away from?

Durandal's face wandered into his mind. He remembered what the Chairman had said that day, not so long ago, on the bridge of the _Minerva._

"_A name reflects its owner's nature._"

The flame died, the brief, bright flash of righteous indignation dimming into cold darkness. He was in no position to criticize her, to tell her that she had made the wrong decision. She was only doing what _he _himself had been doing for almost two years. She had merely gone a step further, and done what he had never been able to do. She had left her old name behind, and become another person.

Did he _envy _her for that?

Athrun looked away from Meer, unable to look her in the eye. He stared out over the city, silently pleading for something, _anything_, to send him a sign.

"_Am I any better off than her?_"

* * *

_**Onagoro Island, Orb Union, October 27th CE 73.**_

"So when _are _we leaving?"

Shinn Asuka would be the first to admit he was getting tetchy. It was bad enough that he had to be stuck in Orb for any length of time. But their stay had stretched to _two weeks_. He had spent as much of that time as possible in the shooting gallery and the simulators, as much to work off his pent-up aggression as to keep his skills in order.

"That's what you asked me last week," Lunamaria Hawke replied testily, striding along the corridor beside him. "And you'll get the same answer this week. We go when the techs are sure the engines won't blow up on us."

"Yeah right" Shinn snorted. "They're just being paranoid."

"It's not a risk we can afford to take," Rey za Burrel interjected from his other side. "If one of the chambers were to breach, it could take out the entire ship."

Shinn humphed, but he knew Rey well enough to trust his judgement. If he reckoned it was that much of a problem, it was probably that much of a problem.

It was embarrassing as much as anything else. The _Minerva _was ZAFT's latest warship, and would have been flagship if not for the _Gondwana_, which was five times its size and equipped with a command-and-control package that could handle the entire fleet. And yet on its maiden voyage, albeit not what had been intended, some of the nuclear pulse engines had shown microfractures in the combustion chambers. Though real danger would require the fractures to be somewhat larger, Captain Gladys was evidently taking no chances. Better several weeks laid up in Orb while the chamber walls were replaced than the chance her first command would end in a mushroom cloud.

As embarrassing as it was for something like that to happen. Shinn could accept that she had made the right decision. During an engine burn, each combustion chamber was required to contain and funnel what amounted to a laser-induced nuclear detonation. If one of them were to breach, the resulting explosion would be enough to blast or melt open the other chambers before anyone could do anything about it, incinerating the ship.

Which was why it _wasn't_ the reason Shinn had gotten so angry.

"We shouldn't be hanging around here," he groused. "It's not as if we'll be welcome much longer."

"That's true," Lunamaria mused. "It's too bad. I kinda like this country."

It _was _true. It was the truth of Orb.

Shinn wasn't entirely sure how he felt, or how he _should _feel. His first reaction to the announcements had been near-incandescent fury, yet once he had calmed down a little, his feelings had shifted to a detached, cynical amusement. It was at that point that he began to wonder _why _he had felt so angry. After all, it wasn't as if he had expected anything better from the Athhas.

As they approached a corridor intersection, two figures rounded the corner ahead of them. One was a green-uniformed crewman, his shoulder patch and assault rifle marking him as a fleet armsman. The other was…

"What're you doing here?!" Shinn demanded, his face twisting in anger. Cagalli Yula Athha looked away, seemingly ashamed. The bravado and sanctimonious anger of a fortnight earlier was nowhere to be seen.

"I…" she began, her voice hesitant. "I'm here to see the Captain, to give my thanks for everything you've done."

"You think we don't know what you've been doing?" Shinn retorted, before anyone else could speak. "The Earth Alliance invaded Orb, but now you make a declaration of friendship with them?! _And _with the Jovians?! How selfish and irresponsible can you be?! Just how many sides are you playing?!"

"No!" Cagalli protested, unconvincingly. "It's not like that!"

"If you've become our enemy," Shinn roared, his fury erupting, "I'll destroy this country, with my own hands!"

He stormed past Cagalli, making a point of bumping her shoulder.

"But Shinn…!"

He could not hear her. Blood thundered in his ears, and his head felt like it was about to explode.

"Shinn!"

He ignored the calls behind him. He just wanted to get away. Away from Orb. Away from _her_. Away from the way they made him feel.

"Shinn! Dammit!"

Lunamaria's cursing cut through his rage. He stopped, shoulders hunched, fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to process the fury in his soul.

"Shinn, what is your problem?!" Lunamaria demanded. "Why the hell do you even care?!" Shinn could not bring himself to reply. It took him a few moments to gather himself enough to turn and face her. Rey was standing next to her, giving him _that _look.

"Look, Shinn, I could understand you being disappointed," his old friend went on. She looked and sounded exasperated. "I had a lot of respect for her, until she pulled this stunt. But you don't see me acting like a bad-tempered little kid!"

"Is that what you see in me?!" Shinn snapped back, his anger flaring up again. "Is that all you think this is?!"

"That's how it looks! But I'm _charitably _assuming that there's something more! So how about you tell me!"

Shinn cleared his throat.

"It's…not just her," he admitted, his voice hoarse.

"So it's the Jovians then." Lunamaria sighed. "What is it with you and them anyway?"

"I…I can't believe they're going along with this," Shinn hissed, forcing out the words. "With…with _those _people!"

"So _that's _what this is about?!" Lunamaria snorted contemptuously. "You're jealous because Prince Daniel had the nerve to _talk _to her?"

"Why do the Jovians need to have anything to do with Orb?!" Shinn barked, falling back on rhetoric. "Can't they understand what they're dealing with? _We're _their natural allies, not Orb!"

"It's called _diplomacy_," Rey spoke up, his tone its usual deadpan. "And gestures like that are meaningless. You shouldn't jump to conclusions based on these kinds of declarations."

Shinn looked away, his breath hissing through gritted teeth.

"I…I thought he'd understand."

"Who? The Prince?" Lunamaria suddenly grinned. "I should've known. You've been acting like you fell in love with the guy."

"I'm serious Luna!" Shinn snapped, cheeks flushing at her suggestion. "I…I _felt _something, in the battle, and just before we left. Some kind of…connection."

"Connection?" Lunamaria cocked her head. "You…know how that sounds, don't you?" Shinn opened his mouth to shriek a denial.

"I know what you mean" Rey cut him off, catching them both off-guard. The blond stepped forward, and put a hand on Shinn's shoulder.

"But Lunamaria's right," he said, looking Shinn straight in the eyes. "You shouldn't mention this to anyone."

"But…" Shinn was surprised, both by his words and by the look in his eyes.

"There are a lot of xenophobic rumours running around about the Jovians," Rey went on, his gaze intense. "This isn't something ZAFT should perpetuate."

"Yeah," Shinn said, unsure what else to say. "You're right."

Rey strode off down the corridor, leaving Shinn and Lunamaria to stare after him, wondering what he meant.

* * *

_**Onamuji Island, Orb Union. **_

Kira Yamato knew when something was up.

He didn't know whether it was the result of genetic engineering, or the trained intuition of a combat pilot, or if it had something to do with what Reverend Malchio had called the 'Seed'. Whatever the cause, he had always been able to sense when something had changed, especially when something was wrong.

He had first noticed it when Prayer Reverie had come running to him on the beach, asking him to come quickly. As he followed the boy back to the house, he had seen the black car standing just in front of a shell hole in the road. It was a car from the government motorpool, which meant that if the business was not official, it was certainly important. That combined, with the look in Prayer's eyes, told him that something was wrong.

Prayer led him by the hand to a jagged hole in the cliff side, made there a few days earlier by the mysterious raiders who had come so close to killing them all. Beyond it was the chamber in which the _Freedom_, brought out that night to do battle once again, was housed. The mobile suit dominated the chamber, looming over him as Prayer led him inside. Therein he saw Lacus Clyne, his common-law wife, along with their old friends and neighbours, Andrew Waltfeld and Murrue Ramius. With them was the person the car had brought, a large, motherly-looking woman he knew quite well.

"Myrna?"

"Master Kira!" Myrna seemed quite relieved. "I knew about the damage, but I never thought it would be this bad!"

"Yeah, I know," Kira replied conversationally. "So what brings you here?" His momentary cheer faded when he saw the serious look on her face. Myrna had been Cagalli's nanny when she was a child, and was more than a match for her wilfulness.

"Here." She held out an envelope with a wax seal. "Lady Cagalli asked me to give it to you directly, Master Kira." Kira took it, and saw that the seal was of the House of Athha.

"My lady is no longer able to come out here on her own," Myrna went on. "So she gave that to me to give to you in secret." Her head was lowered, and Kira felt a sudden foreboding.

"Is something wrong with Miss Cagalli?" asked Murrue.

"I hope she hasn't been hurt," Lacus commented.

"No," Myrna replied, her tone unchanged. "She's quite well, in fact." She looked away, seemingly ashamed. "It's just that she has moved into the Seiran residence in preparation for her marriage."

There was a collective gasp at her words.

"She'll be living with the Seirans until the wedding," Myrna continued, suddenly more animated. "But I don't know what will be happening after that. They haven't told me anything about their arrangements!" She paused, and Kira saw that she was very agitated.

"Of course, the marriage with Lord Yuna was arranged when they were little children, and I'd be delighted for Lady Cagalli if it was what she really wanted!" She raised her fists, as wanting to hit someone.

"But the way the Seirans are carrying on, rushing everything like this!" She rounded on Andrew, the force of her anger making him flinch. "The poor thing! She has no parents to advise her, or protect her! They're getting their own way!"

Shocked and bewildered, Kira tore open the envelope and began to read.

_Dear Kira_

_I'm sorry I couldn't come and talk to you in person, but I'm not as free to move around as I was before. I'm currently living at the Seiran mansion, preparing to marry Yuna Roma in one week from now. This is all very sudden, but it can't be helped, considering the nation's mood and the state of the world. The country needs strong leadership more than ever, and our wedding is the best way for that to come about. It may be that I am powerless to prevent the war currently brewing between the Atlantic Federation and Eurasia, but it is my duty both to Orb and to humanity to take whatever chance, whatever possibility, fate may put in front of me. My marriage to Yuna Roma will strengthen our position vis-à-vis the Atlantic Federation, allowing us to negotiate a peaceful solution to the secession crisis, and our friendship with Jupiter will bring about a change the likes of which the world hasn't seen in centuries. _

_The ring enclosed here was given to me by Athrun. I can no longer keep it with me, and I didn't want them to take it from me. I thought about it, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away either. I hate to ask this favour, but should he ever return, will you please return this to him, and tell him I'm sorry? _

_I can only apologise for all this. I do this for the peace of my nation, for the happiness of its people, and for the chance to spare the world another war. I promise to do my best in this._

_Yours, always and forever_

_Cagalli Yula Athha_

Kira shuddered, the paper and ring almost falling from his hands. He could almost sense Lacus' reaction as she read over his shoulder, and knew she felt the same way.

"How can this…how can she do this?"

"It's because of this secession business!" Myrna replied sadly. "It's been driving her to distraction! She's afraid that if there's another war it'll be the end of us all! And with Master Athrun going away all of a sudden, there's no one left for her to lean on!"

Kira felt sorry for Myrna as he heard her words. She had taken care of Cagalli since she was a baby, and doubtless longed to be able to protect her as she had before. But for all her status in the Athha household she was still a mere servant, with no means to resist the power of the Prime Minister. The atmosphere in the chamber had turned distinctly gloomy.

"Surely there's someone," Murrue pleaded, bewildered. "I thought the Athhas were related to European royalty."

"They are," Lacus replied. "But I doubt they'd be able to help."

"I suggested that she contact some of her old school friends," Myrna interjected. "But she said she didn't want to make trouble for them. It made me wonder if she wasn't up to something."

"Up to something?" Murrue asked, curious.

"With the wedding I mean," Myrna went on. "Especially since she asked that nice Prince Daniel to give her away."

"She what?!" Kira barked, looking up suddenly.

"She asked him in front of the legislature," Myrna repeated, surprised. "She even gave him her father's old ring. Haven't you heard?"

"Our web receiver's been on the blink since the raid," Andrew spoke up. "We've really been out of the loop."

Kira lowered his head as a terrible, sick feeling flooded through him. Mostly it was fear; fear for Cagalli, and for what might happen as a result of her decision. But there was also remorse. Terrible, soul-chilling remorse.

"It's my fault," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It's all my fault."

"Kira?" Lacus took his arm, regarding him with worried eyes. All of them were watching him, wondering what had brought this on.

"She offered me that ring," he said. "She asked me to join her family, but I turned her down. I could've been there for her. I _should_'ve been there for her. Now there's only him."

He knew it in his heart. He had never properly gotten to know Cagalli, not the way a brother and sister should, and the knowledge of it only added to his sorrow, for if the wedding went ahead he would _never _get another chance. They would lock her away in the Seiran mansion, letting no one outside of their control even see her. They would make policy in her name, until she was so broken by isolation and imprisonment that she could be replied-upon to do as she was told.

She would break, that much Kira knew. Cagalli was strong, but she wasn't made to be put in a cage. It would change her, wear her down, crush her spirit. They would keep her there alone, with no one to trust or confide in, and they would _certainly _never let Athrun near her ever again. She would never get the chance to explain, to apologise, to find out if he still loved her.

And if all that didn't break her, there were other ways. With total control of Orb at stake, Kira doubted the Seirans would hold back. By the time the wedding euphoria faded and the public began to wonder what had become of their Chief Representative, there would be nothing anyone could do about it.

"Join her family?" Murrue spoke up, confused. "Is that what happened?"

"Yes," Kira replied, before Myrna could say anything. "It's the custom among the great houses. By offering him the ring, she was _kind _of adopting him into the Athha family."

"Adopting?" Andrew asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Like a brother? Or a son?"

"It's more like asking him to be a godparent," Myrna interjected, having noticed Kira's mood. "If I'm honest, I don't think Lady Cagalli told him the whole truth about it."

"So then why?" Andrew asked. "Why go that far just so he can give her away at her wedding?"

"Well…" Myrna paused, and glanced back through the entrance, as if she feared someone was listening. "I…I could get into terrible trouble for telling you this, but there's talk going around of some sort of arrangement being made with the Jovians."

"Aside from the declaration of friendship?" Andrew narrowed his eyes. "Any idea what it's about?"

"Well I…" Myrna glanced back again, then decided that the die was cast. "I'm not sure about all this, but the rumour goes that a Jovian shuttle dropped something off the other day, and that something else was loaded on board after that." There was a long pause.

"Technology," Kira said. "The Seirans want the Jovians' technology, and likely gave some of their own in return."

"But which technology?" Murrue wondered. "In any case, if they have some agreement to exchange technology, this could be Cagalli's way of sealing the deal."

"The equivalent of signing in her own blood?" Andrew quipped, smirking.

"It's not that," Kira spoke up, drawing their attention again. "There's no need for it to go that far. I think she offered the ring because it means she can keep Daniel close to her."

"So the Seirans can't keep her completely isolated," Lacus mused, smiling. "She's outmanoeuvred them."

"But why would the Seirans allow it?" Andrew sounded dubious. "If what you're saying's true, this could mess up their plan. How come they didn't stop it?"

"They couldn't stop her," Lacus replied brightly. "That's the beauty of it."

"Miss Lacus is right!" Myrna proclaimed vehemently. "It's the bride's prerogative! If they tried to keep him out there'd be a dreadful scandal!"

Kira pictured the scene, almost chuckling at the image of Prince Daniel and his attendants standing outside the Seiran mansion, arms laden with wrapped presents, while some luckless servant begged him to go away and not make a scene. It raised his spirits somewhat to think that Cagalli was fighting back in some small way, that she had some kind of plan.

And yet…

"But what happens then?" he asked aloud, his tone dispelling the brief mood of hope. "Cagalli's still going to marry Yuna Roma. I can't believe that's what she really wants, or that it's even good for her. What's worse is there's really no way out."

And there wasn't. There were few ways by which Cagalli could walk out on someone like Yuna Roma Seiran with her reputation intact, unless he was so monumentally stupid as to use violence. Even if she could pin something on someone as slippery as Yuna, the scandal would damage her credibility as Chief Representative, while earning her the permanent enmity of House Seiran. She would likely be forced to step down as Chief Representative, and maybe even flee the country, to avoid a constitutional crisis and perhaps even a civil war. The fate of Orb was in the balance, and Kira knew which path Cagalli would choose.

No matter what the cost to herself. Or to Athrun.

Kira felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of what Athrun must be going through. The woman he loved had betrayed him for the sake of her country, and the first he'd heard of it was a news broadcast.

"_He must be heartbroken_."

"I can't let this happen," he announced, his decision made. "I can't let Cagalli do this to herself."

"Kira…" Lacus said, visibly worried. There was a long pause.

"Be sure, kid," Andrew said gruffly. "She won't thank you for ruining her plan, and the world definitely won't if a war breaks out."

"It isn't worth her happiness!" Kira snapped back, his feelings getting the better of him. "It isn't worth her _life_! If those people are so _stupid _they have to start another war, then Cagalli shouldn't have to carry the can for it! She's suffered _enough_!"

"But Kira…"

Kira looked into Lacus' sad, worried eyes, and his resolve wavered. Neither of them had wanted any of this. Neither of them had wanted anything more to do with the petty strife of the world around them. A world that seemed incapable of leaving them in peace.

"Mister Kira, you don't have to go," Prayer spoke up. "Let me pilot the _Freedom._"

"Hey, come on kid," Andrew spluttered, laughing. "You pilot the _Freedom?_"

"I can do it!" Prayer pleaded, his eyes wide and bright. "I know how to pilot a mobile suit! There's no reason for Mister Kira to get involved!"

"Now Prayer," Lacus interjected sternly. "Don't say things like that. I know you mean well, but you're too young to be piloting mobile suits."

"But I can _do _it!" Prayer wailed, sounding in that brief instant like the child he was. "Please Miss Lacus! Please let me help!"

"Prayer." Kira put a hand on the boy's shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "I'm grateful that you want to help me. But this is something I have to do myself." He straightened up.

"Well then," Murrue said, with an air of finality. "We'd better spread the word. Get the old team back together."

"I can't ask you to follow me," Kira replied, unable to meet her eyes. "If you do, there'll be no going back."

"You can't do it without us either." Murrue smiled at him. It was that warm, familiar smile he remembered from two years earlier. "You'll need somewhere to hide, and where better than the _Archangel_?"

"And you're certainly not leaving me behind!" Lacus interjected primly. Kira almost laughed.

"You can count me in," Andrew added with a smirk. "I've nothing better to do, and I'd rather be useful."

"Thanks, you guys." In spite of everything, Kira felt very warm inside. Then he remembered, and glanced down at a glum-looking Prayer.

"You can come with us on the _Archangel_," he said with a smile. "If Reverend Malchio agrees, that is. I'm sure you'll be a big help."

Prayer's mouth opened in surprise, then split into a smile of radiant joy.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms around Kira's waist. "Thank you Mister Kira! I promise to do my best!"

"Okay okay!" Kira pleaded, embarrassed by Prayer's effusiveness. He glanced at Lacus, who giggled behind her hand.

* * *

**That was heavy going. I'm sorry this took so long, but since I'm putting 'One and Only Son' on hold for the duration of the new Code Geass Gaiden, I'll have a little more time for this fic. **

**Not too many notes this time. The Martian characters are from the 'C.E.73 Delta ASTRAY' manga. Also, I want to make it clear that there will be **_**no **_**yaoi between Shinn and Daniel, despite how that scene might have looked. **

**A couple of points. I deliberately delayed Athrun's decision until after he saw Cagalli's declaration, because I thought him accepting Durandal's offer would make more sense in light of it. Also, considering the kind of media attention it was likely to get, it seemed strange that in canon he didn't find out about either the wedding or Cagalli's kidnapping until some time afterwards. I thought this would tidy up that little issue. As for him becoming a civilian contractor, I decided on this after a discussion with Wing Zero Alpha. We decided it would fit better with Durandal's claim that Athrun would be independent, while avoiding legal complications. **

**As for the **_**Minerva**_**'s little combustion chamber problem, I came up with it relatively late on, because I needed a reason for it to have been hanging around Orb for several weeks. There is a good reason for this. **

**Anyway, next time. Cagalli is prepared for her wedding, while Kira prepares to do as he must. Nothing will go quite as anyone expects, Daniel will do something he'll regret, and the **_**Minerva **_**will have to defend itself against the forces of Seiran-controlled Orb. **

**Until next time…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_I've never really met anyone who says that wars are good. You only see people like that in movies, or video games, or on the TV. There are a lot of them on the TV nowadays, both on the Earth and PLANT channels, talking about why they have to fight. I say that they talk, but actually they shout a lot, and wave their fists, and act really angry. PLANT says the Alliance blew up Junius Seven and killed all those people, and the Alliance says they didn't. Mom says they're acting like a bunch of spoilt kids. I think she's right. _

_When Sensei asked us to write an essay about one of the reasons war is bad, I didn't know which one to choose. Then I saw something on the TV about people in the Alliance countries going on marches, carrying signs and banners saying that all Coordinators should be killed. I felt really bad seeing it, and got really angry. But my Dad told me that there are people in the PLANTs who feel the same way about Naturals, and that a lot of Naturals feel the same way as I do. He told me that's why he and Mom wouldn't go to the PLANTs, because they didn't want to have to choose a side. _

_I'm really grateful that they moved to Orb, and that I and my sister were able to grow up here. I really wish that people everywhere else could see how things are here in Orb. I hope that someday they'll understand that Naturals and Coordinators don't have to fight, and that it's better if we're all friends and work together. After all, it's obvious that we're all human, because Naturals and Coordinators can have healthy babies together. At least, that's what Mom told me._

_Extract from an essay by Shinn Asuka, aged 12_

_**Then**_

_**Corona Colony, Europa, Kingdom of Jupiter, CE-70 (AL-132)**_

He couldn't sleep.

Daniel Scirocco, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Jupiter, had a lot on his mind. This in itself was not unusual, for he generally had a lot to think about and it sometimes made sleep difficult. But this was far worse than usual, because the occasion was of far greater import.

_She _was getting married in the morning.

He cursed himself for it. He felt foolish for getting so nervous, for allowing himself to be so affected. He had known it was going to happen for at least a year, ever since the trip to Sinope. That little adventure had changed a lot of lives, his own more than most. He should have understood, and accepted, that things would not stay the same forever.

So then why couldn't he sleep?

Daniel sat on the end of his bed, staring down at the floor. Darkness hung around him like a shroud, seeming to weigh down his spirit. He felt strangely empty, lonely even, in a way he had not felt in many years.

Not since _that _incident.

A part of him longed for company, even if just for someone to talk to. But he didn't want to bother Hannon or Damien, not at such an hour. Ninin was always pleasant company, but she was currently occupied. Doubtless she was in Lenara's rooms, enjoying herself with the bridesmaids.

And he was too old to be clambering into Lenara's bed in any case.

He felt pathetic, unworthy. Poor lovelorn little prince, moping because his big sister was getting married, because his childish dream was about to die. A deluded thirteen-year-old, pining for a beautiful girl two years his senior, whose heart was long since given.

A gentle knock on the door shocked him from his reverie. He looked up as the door eased open, and a figure slid inside.

"Lady Lenara!" he gasped, leaping to his feet.

For it was she. Lenara Gable stood before him, her slim figure concealed by a diaphanous white nightgown, her honey-golden hair hanging long and straight as it generally did. Her dark blue eyes sparkled with affection, belying her slightly bashful air.

"Can't sleep?"

"I…I have had a bad night, Lady Lenara." Daniel blushed, looking down at his toes. He loved Lenara like the older sister he'd never had, but for an awkward thirteen-year-old the sight she presented was the stuff of fantasies. Or of one of Damien's porn discs.

"May I?"

"Of course!"

It barely occurred to Daniel that Lenara was exercising a very rare privilege. There were not many who could wander in and out of his chambers with barely a word said of it. He was more concerned with his pounding heart, and the sweat on his brow, as Lenara sat down on his bed.

"Come now." She patted the sheet next to her. "Sit here, and tell me what ails you." Daniel swallowed, then did as she asked. His face flushed, making her giggle.

"I wanted to thank you for letting me borrow Ninin for the wedding," Lenara said. "She'll do very nicely."

"I don't own her," Daniel replied, a little too quickly. "I couldn't bear the thought of it."

"But she _is_ your companion," Lenara insisted, smiling. "And I know how important protocol is to you."

"I…trust she hasn't given you any trouble." He knew only too well how much of a handful Ninin could be.

"She's excitable, but nothing I can't handle." Lenara chuckled. "Though getting her to keep still during her dress fitting was a challenge. She keeps going on about that boyfriend of hers. But she's got Sera and Gracia to keep her distracted." She eyed him meaningfully.

"You've been a stranger recently," she went on. "You've been making excuses to stay out of things. It's almost as if you're trying to avoid me."

"I…" Daniel cleared his throat. "This isn't something I should be involved in, Lady Lenara. I…didn't want to intrude."

"Oh?" Lenara feigned surprise. "Does that mean you don't want to attend tomorrow?"

"I didn't say that!" Daniel blurted out, realising too late that he'd been played. Lenara's smile returned, and she ruffled his hair affectionately.

"I _want _you to be involved, Daniel."

"I…don't know how I would be of much help, Lady Lenara."

"Aside from keeping Sera and Gracia amused?" She giggled again, but something was different. Her aura had shifted, just slightly. "But there is a favour I would ask."

"Ask it."

"You'll be with Hannon and Damien tomorrow, obviously." Lenara was still smiling, but she seemed more subdued all of a sudden, more cautious. "I'd like you to…watch Juzan for me."

"Watch him, Lady Lenara?"

Daniel was mystified, and then mystification turned into disquiet when he saw the look in her eyes.

"I need to know…how he feels."

Daniel's heart skipped a beat, an electric sting of fear running through him. Did she know about _that_? How had she found out?

"Well," he began, trying to master himself, "I could ask him, but…"

"No Daniel," Lenara insisted. "I need more than that." Her words were a spear of ice through his heart.

"Lady Lenara…" He cleared his throat, trying to stop himself from shaking. "You…know not what you ask."

"Yes I do, Daniel." Before Daniel could reply, Lenara had wrapped her arms around him and pressed his head against her shoulder. Daniel was too stunned to say anything.

"It's all right," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. "I know. I know all about it. Your father explained everything."

"Lenara." Daniel pulled away from her to look her in the eyes. "Lenara, are you worried about Captain Oz?"

Lenara looked away, and Daniel felt suddenly cold. He wondered what could have upset her so.

"I love Juzan," she said, her quavering just slightly. "A part of me is certain of it, but…" She trailed off. Daniel had never seen her so unhappy. The cold, sick feeling in his stomach worsened as a thought, a terrible thought, crept into his mind.

No. It wasn't possible. He couldn't believe Juzan Oz would actually harm her. He didn't seem capable of it.

"Lenara, if…"

"No Daniel!" The words came out too quickly. "Please, don't tell mother or father about this, and _definitely _don't tell Hannon. They'll get the wrong idea I _know _it!"

"But surely…"

"It's not that I don't _want _to marry him" Lenara went on miserably. "I'm just so…it feels so…" Daniel shivered.

Jovians married young. He hadn't thought of it that way until his tutor had mentioned it a few days earlier. Lenara had always seemed so mature, so graceful, and self-possessed. He had thought of her as a grown woman. But by the standards of the people living on Earth, assuming there were any left, Lenara was a child.

And for the first time in many years, Daniel saw a child. Juzan was only a few years older, but still…

"Lenara," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Please…allow me to help you. If something happens I can…protect you."

Her eyes met his, and Daniel's hauteur evaporated. He felt utterly foolish. What could a mere child like himself do to help her? How could he, a _boy_, talk of protecting her?

Then Lenara cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead.

"My precious prince," she said, her voice full of warmth. "Thank you for saying that."

* * *

_**N**__**ow**_

_**Onamuji Island, Orb Union, November 3**__**rd**__** CE 73**_

It was a warm day, the sun high and bright in a bright blue sky, all but devoid of clouds.

It was the perfect day for a wedding, or perhaps for a coronation. It was the kind of weather that put people in the right kind of mood.

Daniel would have felt _somewhat _better about it if he wasn't quite so hot. The foyer of the Seiran mansion was large and airy, but the sheer number of people crowded in there was enough to put the ambient temperature through the roof. On top of all that, his dark blue dress uniform wasn't a good getup for the heat. The only reason he wasn't swimming in sweat, and smelling like Damien's underwear drawer, was the anti-perspirant cream he had rubbed on after his morning shower. It was good stuff, but made him feel as if his body had been laminated.

Not that it was the first time he'd gone a little too far in order to keep up appearances.

Nor, Daniel thought, suppressing a sigh, was the heat the only thing making him sweat.

He had barely been able to sleep the night before. That cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had kept him awake, tormenting him with the knowledge of what was to come, and the part he would play in it.

He glanced around the foyer, noting the faces he recognized and wondering at those he didn't. Of the various big noises assembled, almost all that he recognized were Seirans; relations, lackeys, clients, hangers-on of one sort or another. It was as Myrna had intimated to him, and as Brand had concluded. The Seirans were worming their way into every branch, every department of Orb's government. This wedding would be the final act, the sealing of their control by a means as old as civilization.

And he would bear witness to it.

The clunk of doors opening drew his attention up the grand staircase. His heart skipped a beat as Cagalli appeared at the head of the stairs, a gasp of adoration going up from all around him.

She was beautiful, that he could not deny. Her flowing, bell-like gown was pure, gleaming white and the palest blue. Matching gloves ran up to her elbows, followed by narrow, milk-white arms and shoulders, and a swan-like neck. Her normally spiky hair had been curled and styled, delicately framing her face. Her veil was trimmed in white fur, likely a suitably expensive ermine substitute, hanging from the top of her head like a garland.

As she descended the stairs, her skirts swishing and rustling, Daniel could see her face more clearly. Her bronze eyes had been rimmed in black, making them seem larger, and the skin had been powdered and shaded to accentuate her features. Her eyes fell on him, and he made out the pink paint around her eyes, and the thick pink lipstick. It was all he could do not to shudder.

Memories of another wedding day, another bride, hovered in the back of his mind. Lenara Gable, younger sister of Hannon Gable, and the girl he'd loved like the older sister he'd never had. He had seen her in her wedding dress, a sight indeed for the awkward thirteen-year-old boy he had been. He remembered her dress, her honey-golden hair piled atop her head, her shimmering veil.

And her smile. More than anything else, her smile. Lenara had glowed, radiant with the hope of perfect happiness, despite the fears she had confided the night before.

Whatever Cagalli had become, she wasn't glowing.

Daniel mastered himself. Clasping his left hand around his sword hilt to hold it steady, he stepped forward to face Cagalli. As they had rehearsed, she proffered a gloved hand.

"My lady," he said, bowing low to kiss it.

"My kinsman," she replied. There was a rumble from the crowd as she leaned forward to plant a decorous kiss on his cheek. Fighting down a blush, Daniel turned to take his place beside her. Cagalli laid her hand over his, and the crowd parted like twin receding waves, clearing a path to the main door.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the honour guards flanking the steps snapped to attention, raising ceremonial swords to _en garde._ More guests waited outside, oohing and aahing as prince and bride promenaded.

"Lady Cagalli!"

"So beautiful!"

"Such grace!"

Daniel managed to keep his eyes straight ahead, his face graciously expressionless, until they reached the cars. The white bridal limousine was directly in front of them, an odd-looking vehicle with a broad oval passenger compartment taking up the rear half. The crowd oohed as Daniel handed Cagalli through the open doors, the high roof allowing her to step through effortlessly. Once she was in place, Daniel sat down next to her.

"Aren't you roasting in that getup?" Cagalli asked waspishly, as the doors were closed.

"I endure," Daniel replied mildly, as the limousine moved smoothly away.

As the motorcade passed the gates, motorcycle outriders manoeuvred smoothly into position in front and behind. People thronged along the route, held back by barriers and police officers. The cars moved along at a sedate pace, allowing them a clear view of their beloved Chief Representative and her knight errant.

Daniel glanced out of the window to his left. The barriers were only a few metres away, a sea of smiling faces just beyond. Cameras flashed every few seconds, and Daniel could hear the cheers and cries of approbation. He forced his face into a gentle smile, and raised a gloved hand in a regal wave.

"Be sure to wave," he said, for Cagalli had barely moved since the journey had begun. He immediately regretted the insensitivity of it, but she complied without a word. The cheers grew even louder as the crowds beyond saw her smile, and the gentle wave of her hand. A beautiful scene was playing out before them, as if from the pages of a children's story. Daniel knew they would be talking about if for years, about how the noble prince had escorted the lovely young bride to the side of her handsome betrothed. It could not have been better if he were riding a white horse.

They could not see what he saw. They did not know what he knew. They could not see the tears waiting to flow, the sorrow and desperate hope in her eyes, concealed behind a gossamer veil. They could not see, and would never be allowed to see.

A part of him rebelled. This wasn't how it had been in the stories. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The noble prince was supposed to rescue the princess, not escort her to the marriage made in hell. Something inside him wanted to resist, to fight, to save Cagalli from the irrevocable mistake to which he was carrying her.

"Sorry about that." Cagalli's voice drew him from his reverie. I was just thinking…about my father."

"My lady…"

"Please…" She glanced at him, and he saw pleading in her eyes. "Call me Cagalli, while we're in here."

"As you wish."

More silence.

"Cagalli…" Daniel began cautiously. "Are you…all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine Daniel, thank you," she replied, her tone as empty as it was polite. "After all, this is my wedding day." She somehow managed to smile, and the sight of it sent a shiver down Daniel's spine.

"What is it, Daniel?" she asked. "Are you jealous? Would you like to take Yuna's place?"

"Cagalli!" Daniel spluttered, his face turning red.

"I'm kidding." Cagalli reached over and squeezed his hand. "Honestly, you're just like Athrun." She looked down at the bouquet on her lap, made of flowers Daniel didn't recognize.

"I have to do this," she went on. "I have to go through with this. For the sake of Orb, and for all humanity."

Daniel wanted to believe in her words. He wanted to believe that she was doing the right thing, that they were _both _doing the right thing. But her words were as hollow as the look in her eyes.

"Cagalli…" Memories of Lenara rose unbidden. "There's still time. You can still…"

"No, Daniel." Cagalli shook her head. "I can't back out now. I can't jilt him at the altar and still be Chief Representative. Tonight I'll be his wife, or nothing at all."

"Cagalli!" Tears of mingled shame and pity pricked at Daniel's eyes. "I'll…I'll protect you! I'll protect you from him!"

"How, Daniel?" Cagalli's eyes were full of pain. "Will you fight the Seirans for my sake? Will you burn Orb, as the Alliance did?" She paused, letting the implication hang in the air.

"There's nothing you can do for me, Daniel," Cagalli went on. "If you destroy one innocent life for my sake, even if you never meant it, then it's one too many."

She gestured at the window, at the smiling crowds all around. Men, women, and children, enjoying what they thought was the denouement of a fairytale romance, the final prelude to a happily-ever-after.

"These are my people, Daniel." Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "I understand now, more than ever, why my father laid down his life. If they're worth his life, then they're worth a wedding. I can only hope…that Athrun will understand."

"Then why?" Daniel asked, a lump rising in his throat. "Why did you give me this ring? Was it not so that I could be near you? So I could help you, and protect you?"

"A part of me wanted to think so," Cagalli replied. "But really, I just wanted to fight them, in any little way I could. If I could have just one little thing for myself, even that is a victory."

Daniel's heart clenched as he saw the glistening thread running down her cheek.

"Thank you, Daniel. Thank you for being with me, here and now. If I had to be alone now, I don't know what I'd do."

The motorcade rounded a corner. Daniel glanced out of Cagalli's window, and saw the military guards in white and blue lining the route. They were approaching the venue.

"For my sake, Cagalli," he said, his voice cracking. "Please accept this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief. As gently as he could manage, he dabbed at Cagalli's cheek, drying the single tear.

"Thank you, Daniel."

* * *

_**Secret Dock, Onamuji Island**_

They were good to go.

It had taken only a few days to get the _Archangel _ready. The mighty ship had remained hidden in its underground hangar for almost two years, but teams of technicians from the ODF and Morgenroete had kept it well-maintained, albeit in total secrecy. The _Archangel _was to be Orb's trump card, a secret weapon ready to be unsheathed in a time of direst extremity.

The time had come, though not in the way anyone had expected.

Kira Yamato certainly hadn't expected it. He had thought, and dared to hope, that he would never need to walk its decks again. It wasn't that he _hated _the _Archangel_, far from it. But too much had happened within its bulkheads, amid its chambers and corridors, behind its heavy armour, for his feelings to be so black and white as _love _and _hate. _For that whole long adventure, all those months of anguish and exultation, of death and rebirth, the _Archangel _had been his home.

He had chosen his path. So had Lacus, Murrue, Andrew, Prayer, and all the others. The _Archangel _would become their shared home once again, for who-knew how long.

All for her sake.

It had been good to see the others again. Chief Murdoch had come, as had Arnold Neumann, and even Dalida Chandra. Kira had been happy to see them, even if not all the old team would be coming. Miriallia Haw was still alive, as far as he knew, but busy with her new career as a investigative journalist. Kuzzey Buskirk was gods-knows-where.

But all those happy reunions had nevertheless reminded him of those who could never share their comradeship again.

_Tolle Koenig. _

_Mu la Flaga. _

_Natarle Badgiruel_

_Flay Allster._

Supplies had been loaded, and all arrangements made. For Kira, there was only one thing left to do.

Caridad Yamato stood in front of him, anguish in her eyes. He didn't blame her for being worried. Though biologically his maternal aunt, she was his mother in every way that truly mattered. Kira had never thought of her in any other way, even after learning the truth of his origins. Losing her husband Haruma, his uncle and adoptive father, had been hard enough on her without the prospect of losing her son too.

"Mom, I'm sorry to do this again, but…" He trailed off as Caridad wrapped her arms around him, pressing him to her. He returned the embrace, the warmth of it bittersweet.

"It's okay," she said. "You must do what you believe is right. Only…please remember, this is where your home is. I will always be here for you, and I'll always love my boy."

"Ah mom." In spite of everything, Kira felt his cheeks redden. He hadn't changed so much that such words didn't feel a _little _awkward.

"Mom…" He paused, gathering himself. "I know it's been hard, this last couple of years. What with the kids and everything, and…" He trailed off again as Caridad shook her head, smiling wistfully.

"I was never so happy as when I was here with all of you," she said. "With you, the reverend, and the children…and Lacus."

"Uh, yeah." Kira blushed again.

"I'm so glad you found her," Caridad went on. "She's a fine girl. If only you two would hurry up and get married."

"Ah, right." Kira chuckled awkwardly, massaging the back of his neck. Both glanced sideways, to where the children had Prayer Reverie trapped in the middle of a chaotic group hug. The sight was enough to make them both laugh.

"Promise me you'll return home one day," Caridad said, taking his hands. "Promise me you'll all come back."

"I promise."

They embraced one last time, and Kira waited a moment for Prayer to extract himself from the children and bid farewell to Caridad and to Reverend Malchio, who stood silently nearby.

"All set?" Kira asked, as they mounted the walkway to the _Archangel._

"Yes, Mister Kira," Prayer replied, smiling. "I've got everything I'll need." He tweaked the shoulder strap of his holdall.

"That's not much," Kira commented, mildly surprised. "We could be gone a while."

"I don't need much, Mister Kira." Kira smiled, and patted Prayer on the shoulder as they neared the hatch.

By the end of the trip, with any luck, he would have learned a lot more about this mysterious little boy.

And maybe gotten him to stop calling him 'mister' all the time.

* * *

_**Temple of Haumea, Onamuji Island**_

The venue for the wedding was quite impressive.

The site was dominated by an enormous stepped pyramid, made from blocks of sun-browned sandstone, set in front of a cliff and waterfall. There were a total of six steps, with twin ceremonial stairways running up the face until the third step, where they combined into one for the final ascent to the upper dais. Twin colonnades curved around the edges of the pyramid, demarcating clusters of sacred trees.

Two pairs of MVF-M11C _Murasame _mobile suits stood sentinel on the first step, to honour their Chief Representative. Though their wings were folded and their beam rifles lowered, they were a clear reminder to all who saw them of the dangers of those times.

Consecrated to the Goddess Haumea, it was the place where the rites of inauguration, marriage, and death were performed. It was where Cagalli's father had undergone his funeral, symbolically for his body had been totally destroyed, and where Cagalli herself had become Chief Representative.

And in a few moments, it would be the place where she was married.

The most important guests were seated in rows upon the sixth and highest level, before the dais where the priests waited. All stood as Cagalli and Daniel ascended, stepping onto the red carpet leading to the dais. Daniel saw his companions, along with Ambassador Brand, standing on the right, the groom's side, while Unato Ema Seiran and his wife were located on the left, the bride's side. He hid his irritation at this arrangement, no doubt made as a subtle slight, a reminder that he was neither Cagalli's kinsman nor her protector. The cheery wave Ninin gave him did nothing to improve his mood.

Yuna was waiting by the final stairway, wearing a triumphant smile. He could not have made a greater contrast with his father, whose aged face was a stoic mask. His wife seemed positively exuberant.

"My lovely bride, at last!" exclaimed Yuna as they drew near. "Thank you, _your highness_, for this great honour." He bowed low, but the insincerity of his words spoiled the effect. Daniel drew only a little satisfaction from the look of irritation that flashed across Cagalli's face.

"The honour was mine," he replied, acknowledging Yuna with a much shallower bow. Trying not to shake, he passed Cagalli's hand to Yuna, stepping back _just _fast enough to prevent Yuna bumping into him as he stepped into his place.

"I hope those are tears of joy I see," he heard Yuna say, as the couple began their ascent.

It took all of Daniel's already over-wrought self-control to stop himself from clenching his fists as he strode towards his seat. A liveried page bowed as he approached, gesturing towards the empty chair. Ambassador Brand sat to the right, while Ninin had grabbed the seat to the left, with Hannon and Damien next to her. Daniel was somewhat mollified by the nervous look on the page's face. He sat down, holding himself as if it were his father's royal throne on distant Jupiter, not a front-row seat at a farce.

"I didn't like him before," Ninin said harshly, as the couple neared the stop of the stairs.

"And I _really _don't like him now."

"The feeling is mutual, Ninin," Daniel replied, without taking his eyes from Cagalli.

"Your highness." Brand sounded a _little _stressed, though his face was entirely expressionless. "Perhaps you should forgive his…ardour."

"There's nothing to forgive," Daniel half-whispered coldly. "For I acknowledge nothing."

"The best way, your highness."

"Today, we humbly ask Haumea's blessing," intoned the white-robed priest. The sound system carried his voice out over the pyramid. "As we join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Are you Yuna Roma Seiran and Cagalli Yula Athha?"

Daniel forced his face into a cold mask, trying to fight down the anger welling up inside. He saw no sign of the _Minerva_'s officers, or of the PLANT ambassador for that matter. That was no surprise, for the wedding was to mark the beginning of an as-yet unspoken alliance between Orb and the Atlantic Federation. No treaty had been signed, no overt agreement made, but the whole world knew its true meaning. Especially the Atlantic Federation, whose Ambassador Masterman was seated nearby.

That, after all, was the plan. By binding House Athha to itself, House Seiran would prove their worth as an ally, and give the Atlantic Federation good reason to take them seriously. Then, perhaps, a global war might be averted.

Daniel focussed on that hope, wishing he could engrave it upon his heart. It was the reason why he had played along. It was the reason why he had _lowered _himself to promenade her to the altar, to watch her throw her life away and do nothing to prevent it.

Thoughts of Lenara rose again. As he gazed up at Cagalli, for an instant he was that awkward boy once again, watching Lenara recite her vows. Her gown had been nothing like so fine as the one Cagalli was wearing, nor the venue half so grand. But Lenara had been so beautiful, so happy. And her groom, Juzan Oz, had proven himself the good and noble man he had always seemed to be.

Cagalli was the opposite. Daniel felt cold in his stomach as the truth came upon him. She was not a bride, but a prisoner, a parody of herself. With every moment he stared at her, her makeup seemed more garish, more bizarre.

And what of her groom?

Daniel felt his heart clench as the ceremony reached its denouement.

"Should this marriage truly be of the heart," the priest proclaimed, "and your vows of devotion be genuine, then Haumea will harken unto you, and this union shall be blessed."

"_Oh Lord, forgive me,_" Daniel silently prayed. "_Immortal Lord, forgive my cowardice! I have allowed this to happen!_"

"Dan-dan?" Ninin glanced at him, and her irritation was replaced by fear. Daniel's fists were clenched, his brow furrowed, his eyes cast down.

"I ask you once again," the priest went on. "Do you make these vows in good faith, with all your hearts?"

"I do," Yuna said emphatically. The priest looked to Cagalli, but she did not reply. The silence lasted only a few seconds, but to those present it seemed like an eternity.

Cagalli opened her mouth to speak…

…and then paused, as she heard the commotion behind her.

The guards were moving, hustling the guests from their seats and towards the stairs. Yuna's parents were already moving, military guards clustering around the Prime Minister and his wife as they hurried away.

Daniel was on his feet in an instant, his melancholy gone. He glanced left and right, wondering what the commotion was about.

The hiss of a particle beam in air made his nerves sting. An explosion followed, and Daniel looked to see that one of the _Murasame_s had been hit, its weapon arm a blasted stump. Another beam followed, and its partner was similarly disarmed. The other two _Murasame_s raised their rifles, but two more emerald beams rushed in to maim them.

But Daniel was no longer looking at the unfortunate _Murasame_s. The sight of the beams had shown him from whence they had come. He stared out over the coast, over the distant cityscape, and the sea beyond it.

He saw it.

It came on, engines roaring, descending from the sky like an avenging angel. Daniel stared in amazement as the mobile suit approached. Its plastron was midnight black, its arms and legs gleaming white in the sun. Six mighty wings extended from its back, wreathed in unworldly radiance. Upon its brow was a crest of white and gold, the crown of a mighty king.

For a king it was, a king among mobile suits. ZGMF-X10A _Freedom. _

And it was heading straight for the dais, straight for Cagalli.

Daniel moved. He sprinted for the stairs, ignoring the cries of protest from behind. All he could see was Cagalli, her gown billowing in the wind thrown up by the _Freedom _as it came in to land. Yuna cried out in terror, cowering behind his would-be bride.

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't fight a mobile suit. But he couldn't just…

As he neared the top of the stairs, he could see the mighty machine in all its terrible glory, its massive hands reaching down to Cagalli.

"Kira!" Cagalli stood her ground, shouting up at the _Freedom. _ "Kira, what're you doing?!"

Yuna cried out in fear, and fled for the stairs as the giant hands closed around Cagalli. Distracted by the looming colossus, neither Yuna nor Daniel saw the other until it was too late. Yuna shrieked as he crashed into Daniel, toppling him over backwards. Hannon was too close to react, as was Damien. Only Ninin managed to leap out of the way as the four rolled down the steps to sprawl all over the stones below.

For a few moments Daniel lay where he had fallen. His mind was a blur, his whole body a mass of dull pain. His face felt damp, and his ears rang.

Slowly, his mind began to clear. He blinked, shaking his head as he tried to pull himself up, his joints aching with the effort. He made it on to his knees, his eyes scanning the sky for any sight of Cagalli.

Then he saw it. The nightmare-angelic shape of the _Freedom_, soaring away towards the sea. Daniel could not see what was clasped, almost protectively, to its black plastron. But he didn't need to.

He slumped, despair flooding through him. She had been taken, there wasn't a thing he could do to prevent it.

"What're you doing, you idiots!" The angry shout caught Daniel's attention. He looked to see Yuna standing a few metres away, yelling at a small group of ODF officers. Yuna's white suit was torn and dirty, but he didn't seem particularly the worse for wear.

"He's taking Cagalli!" Yuna roared. "Hurry up and open fire!"

"But Lord Yuna," the luckless officer replied. "If we fire, we might hit Lady Cagalli." This brought Yuna up short. He half-turned, shaking with frustration, then spied Daniel.

"What the hell are you staring at?!" he bellowed, rounding on Daniel. "You're supposed to be our allies! Aren't you going to do something?! And look!" Yuna grabbed the lapel of his suit, which bore a large red stain. "You got blood on my suit! How useless can you idiots be?!"

Deep inside Daniel, something snapped.

"_You…_!"

It rose within him, like a dam bursting. It cleared his addled mind, overriding the pain in his body as he rose to his feet.

"What?!" Yuna demanded, too angry to know or even care about the danger he was in. "What's the evil eye for?!"

"_Dan-dan_!" Daniel could hear Ninin's voice in his mind, pleading and fearful. "_Daniel! Don't use your power! He can't defend himself!"_

But Daniel paid no heed. He felt his consciousness expand, rising above and beyond himself. Incandescent rage bloomed behind the walls of his mind, demanding to be let loose. He could not contain it much longer, even if he wanted to.

Ninin's frantic pleading faded into silence as Daniel's spirit rose, blazing like fire. Yuna's face fell, his harsh anger turning into soul-bending terror as Daniel loomed over him. His defences were thin, weak. A dull, untrained mind lashing out at an attacker it couldn't comprehend. Yuna screamed in terror as Daniel's power erupted, thundering down upon him like a tidal wave.

And then he saw.

Daniel recoiled, his mind fleeing away from what it had found. His fury vanished as suddenly as it had risen, his heart freezing over with the horror of it.

Yuna's eyes rolled up, and he collapsed writhing and thrashing to the ground. Daniel slumped to his knees, his lips and chin wet with the blood gushing from his nose. He felt arms catch him as he fell backward, familiar voices calling to him, but almost silently, as if from a great distance. His vision began to blur, but held just long enough for him to make out Ninin's face looking down at him, eyes wide, blood running from her nostrils and eyes.

As he fell into the darkness, he felt the touch of another mind. A child's mind, warm and pure, a short distance away.

"_Who are you_?"

* * *

_**Archangel**_

He was losing the connection. The presence in the distance, which had burned so bright a few moments ago, was fading like a lamp turned down.

"_Wait! Don't go! Tell me who you are!_"

Prayer Reverie _strained _to regain contact, reaching desperately into the void. He didn't want to lose the connection. He didn't want to miss this chance, a chance he never thought he would find.

It was gone.

"Prayer?"

Lacus' voice drew Prayer from his thoughts. He looked up at her, seated in one of the operator's chairs set behind and perpendicular to the captain's chair. She wore the same outfit she had worn during the war, during the days the Three Ships Alliance. It consisted of a short black dress trimmed in purple, over which she wore a white coat with pink trim, flaring shoulders, and purple sleeves. Her pink hair was raised at the back in a long pony tail, tied with a red ribbon.

She was a magnificent sight, but it was the warmth in her eyes that made Prayer's heart skip a beat.

"Miss Lacus?"

"You were staring into space there," Murrue Ramius spoke up from the Captain's chair. "You feeling all right?"

"I'm sorry!" Prayer's face reddened with embarrassment. "I…my mind wandered."

Murrue gave him an indulgent smile, matched by Lacus, and gestured towards the CIC, located behind and below the captain's chair.

"The Reverend says you're pretty capable," she said, cocking an eyebrow. "Can you do much with that?"

Prayer glanced down into the CIC pit. Of the four stations there, located in pairs either side of a commander's chair set below and with its back to the captain's chair, only one was occupied.

"I'll do my best, Captain Ramius!" Prayer almost saluted, then remembered that he was neither a soldier nor in uniform. "Which station should I take?"

"You'd best take combat coordination," Murrue replied. "First on my left. Your job will be to stay in touch with the _Freedom_."

Prayer nodded in understanding, and darted down the steps to take his new post. It took him only a few moments to work out the array of controls before him. After all, he had used such equipment before, in another time.

Another life…

"Where is the _Freedom_ now?" asked Murrue.

"One hundred K and closing fast," Dalida Chandra replied, from his own station back-to-back with Lacus.

"Prayer, contact the _Freedom. _Ascertain his status."

"Yes Captain." Prayer slipped the headphones over his head, took a second to adjust them, then keyed for the _Freedom._ "_Archangel _to _Freedom. _Mister Kira are you there?"

"I am!" replied Kira's face on his screen. It was partially obscured by a mass of white. "Tell Murrue I've got Cagalli and I'm on my way."

"Who is that?!" demanded a female voice. Prayer almost recoiled in surprise as Cagalli Yula Athha forced Kira's helmeted head aside. "Who's there?!"

"Cagalli…!" Kira protested vainly.

"P…Prayer Reverie, my lady!" Prayer managed to reply. "We…met during your last visit."

"Prayer?" Cagalli was incredulous. "What the hell are you doing on the _Archangel_?! You're just a kid!"

"Uh, Cagalli," Kira tried to interject. "I'm trying to pilot here."

"Tell whoever's in charge over there to have a change of clothes ready!" Cagalli barked, ignoring him. "And when I'm done changing, I'm gonna chew you all out! Understand?!"  
"Yes, Lady Cagalli!" Prayer blurted out. "You…look lovely, Lady Cagalli!"

"Stow it or I'll spank you!"

The window vanished as the _Freedom _signed off. Prayer sighed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"I don't think you should've said that," Dalida commented mildly.

* * *

_**Temple of Haumea**_

"Stupid Dan-dan!" Ninin wailed, clutching a blood-stained cloth to her nose. "You never listen to a word I say!"

Daniel lay unconscious on the stretcher, an RJSM medic tending him from opposite Ninin. The ambulance, one of several positioned around the site in case of trouble, was large and well-equipped. Hannon and Damien stood outside, handguns drawn, occasionally glancing at Daniel through the open doors. Feretrius Brand stood a short distance away, talking urgently into his communicator. Surrounded by trees, they could see little of what was going on.

"That was _it,_ wasn't it," Damien growled, staring intensely at Hannon. "He used his power."

"I see no other explanation," Hannon replied. His skin was naturally pale, the mark of an upper-class background in which Jupiter's natural radiation played a minimal role, but the shock of what he had witnessed had made it deathly white.

"You sensed it, didn't you," Damien pressed. He leaned closer, his eyes blazing. "You could _feel _it, couldn't you?" He looked haunted, and Hannon knew why.

"I sensed it," he admitted. "Not as well as you, though. Or Ninin."

They fell silent.

"They say it's our destiny," Damien mused, in a low voice. "They say…it's a sign from God. The blood tears."

"So they say." Hannon gave him a dubious look. "They also say that it's a natural side-effect of a century and a half spent living in space. The human brain is very adaptable, so I'm told."

"So you don't believe" Damien said sourly.

"I don't know _what _to believe," Hannon almost growled. "I don't know what to think, and I _certainly_ don't know what to do."

"What to think?" Damien snorted. "I know what to think! I think we're in this up to our necks!"

"You're exaggerating!"

"How am I exaggerating?! Some lunatic made off with the bride, and Daniel psy-blasted the groom!"

"We don't _know _that!" Hannon insisted. "And they certainly can't prove it!"

"It was Dan-dan though!" Ninin sniffed, her voice croaking slightly as if she were about to cry. "I told him not to use it like that! It makes people go funny!"

"That Yuna guy was funny enough already!" Damien snorted. "But don't expect them to admit it. They'll want a scapegoat."

"Nonsense!" Hannon snapped. "They've no basis! Not even a fig-leaf!"

"We're Jovians," Damien growled. "And they're Terrans. That's all they'll need."  
"I won't be a party to that line of thinking!"

"Well they sure will!"

"Gentlemen!" Feretrius' voice interrupted their argument. The ambassador stepped closer, putting away his communicator. "This is no time for bickering!"

"Have you any news, ambassador?" Hannon asked. Ninin jumped down from the ambulance to listen more closely.

"None I'm afraid. The Prime Minister's office isn't answering, and no one else seems to know what's going on."

"Told you," Damien replied, cutting Hannon off. "We need to get out of here right now. We should call a shuttle down."

"I advise against it."

Their heads snapped round, following the new voice. It belonged to a young woman, standing in the centre of the clearing as if she owned the place. She had long black hair, and a smooth, small-featured face dominated by an aquiline nose. This, combined with her piercing red eyes, made her look for all the world like a bird of prey sizing up a potential kill. A pink cravat hung at her throat, while her lithe body was partially concealed by a long purple cloak.

"Who the hell are you?!" Damien snapped, his handgun whipping up to aim at her. "What do you want?"

"Rondo Mina Sahaku," she replied. She seemed to find Damien quaintly amusing. "And I've come to give you a warning."

"A warning, huh?" Damien sneered. "Speak your piece, woman."

"I will, but first I suggest you lower your gun. I'm not your enemy, and it won't do you much good in any case."

"The hell it won't!"

"Damien." Hannon put a gentle but firm hand on his wrist, pressing it down. Damien opened his mouth to snap at Hannon, but no sound came out.

There were six of them, in three pairs. Two of them emerged from the trees directly behind Rondo Mina, advancing with fluid grace to stand behind her, the others holding their positions in the foliage. Their carbines were steady, and aimed at the Jovians.

"Relax, gentlemen of Jupiter," Rondo Mina said languidly, her smile widening. "My lovely boys aren't here to kill you, unless you threaten me, that is."

Hannon stared in disbelief at her followers. He couldn't quite make out the others, but the two behind her had silver hair, and finely-carved faces so similar as to be…

"Clones," he breathed.

"Correct, Lieutenant Gable." Rondo Mina made a flapping gesture with one gloved hand, and her followers lowered their carbines. Damien, Hannon, and Ninin had already holstered their handguns.

"Very well," Feretrius said. "What warning do you bring, Lady Sahaku?"

"Your arrangement with the Seirans is in the process of falling apart," Rondo Mina said, her voice rising slightly. "For your sake, and his," she gestured at the unconscious Daniel, "you must leave Orb immediately."

"Leave?!" the ambassador spluttered. "What nonsense! We are protected by the law of nations! We have a declaration of friendship!"

"And a secret treaty?"

The last brought Feretrius up short. Damien and Hannon snapped their heads round to stare at him.

"What?" Hannon demanded. "What secret treaty?"

"Relax, ambassador." Rondo Mina almost laughed. "I have my own sources of information, some of them quite well-placed. I know that you gave Morgenroete one of your fusion reactors in return for an order of Helium-3 and ownership of _Inari _colony."

The ambassador sagged, deflating like a balloon.

"I am bound by the Declaration of the Heavens," Rondo Mina said imperiously. "I respect your individuality, and your desire to secure the wellbeing of your people. But by that same token I must say that you've made a terrible mistake."

"It's not what you think," the ambassador pleaded, regaining some of his dignity. "This was his Majesty's plan, in accordance with the wishes of George Glenn, for the good of all."

There was silence.

"The technology wasn't just for Orb," Feretrius managed to continue. "It was meant for all the nations of Earth. No one nation, no one power, would be able to control it."

"But there's Helium-3 on the Moon," Rondo Mina pressed, as if testing him. "And the Atlantic Federation controls the Moon."

"Not enough for the whole Earth Sphere!" Feretrius pleaded. "We would be the balance, the relief of the others! It wouldn't matter who controlled the Moon!"

"And it wouldn't, if your plan was completed," Rondo Mina agreed. "But for the moment, Unato Ema is sitting on a means of making Orb the dominant power in this world. Already he has an arrangement with the Lunar free cities to provide what Helium-3 they can. It's not much, but enough for his needs."

"But there's no way Orb could rule the Earth!" Ninin spoke up. "It's too small!"  
"The idea is madness, yes." Rondo Mina looked away, a shadow falling over her eyes. "The same madness that claimed my poor brother." She looked up again, regaining her composure.

"Unato Ema has played a dangerous game with your gift," she went on. "Doubtless he planned to cower under the Atlantic Federation's skirts while the superpowers tore at each other's throats, then make his move when they were all too weak to stop him. The _Freedom _has made a fool of him this day, and the Atlantic Federation will start to question his usefulness. Worse, they'll want an explanation as to why the _Archangel _has suddenly turned up in Orb waters. The only way out is either to hand over the fusion technology…or your prince."

"Never!" Hannon gasped. "He…they wouldn't…!"

"Oh yes," Rondo Mina replied harshly. "He would. He's that desperate right now, and your young prince will make a valuable bargaining chip, even if he doesn't hand him over right away."

"How long do we have?" the ambassador asked gravely.

"Not long, a few hours at the most."

"Call a shuttle!" Damien barked. "Let's call a shuttle and get outta here!"

"That won't work!" Rondo Mina interjected. "Orb's aerospace defences would shoot it down. I know, I advised Cagalli on their design."

"Then what do we do?" Hannon asked. "What do you suggest?"

"Your only hope is the _Minerva_. I'll give you their codes. You must warn your people at the diplomatic compound."

Feretrius nodded, and pulled out his communicator, stepping away from the group. As he did so, Rondo Mina stepped forward to look the three companions in the eyes.

"Cagalli believed in you," she said gravely. "She believed in your prince, and the chance for peace. She believed in it enough to cast aside the man she loves and marry a piece of human trash. She believed in it enough to serve a lie."

"A lie," Damien said. "So there'll be a war."

"I fear so," Rondo Mina agreed. "Doubtless Cagalli will try to stop it, in her own special way. Please…" Her eyes pleaded with them. "Promise me you'll help her."

"We will do as we must," Hannon replied.

"Yes." Rondo Mina sighed. "I fear you will."

* * *

_**Minerva, Onogoro Island**_

"Any word on what's happened?" Talia Gladys asked.

"No ma'am," Meyrin Hawke replied, looking up from her station. "It's complete chaos out there. No one seems to know what's going on."

Talia resisted the urge to bite her thumbnail, knowing it was the last thing her crew needed to see. They were supposed to be leaving that very day, and she was growing increasingly glad of that fact. But the Chief Representative of the Orb Union had been kidnapped from her own wedding, by no less a personage than Kira Yamato if the reports were to be believed, and taken to the _Archangel_, which had then submerged and taken its leave.

That, assuming any of it was true, was enough to make anyone nervous. But she was captain of a ZAFT warship, the _Minerva _no less, berthed in an Orb port on the day that Orb announced itself to be an ally of the Atlantic Federation, though not in so many words. It was the stuff of nervous breakdowns.

"Arthur, what's our status?"

"Final checks are almost complete captain," Arthur Trine replied. "We can be underway within the hour."

"The sooner the better, vice-captain."

"Captain ma'am!" Meyrin called. "A message on the diplomatic channel. It's...the Jovian ambassador."

There was a pause. Talia nodded to Meyrin, then picked up the phone handset set the armrest of her chair.

"Ambassador Brand, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The whole bridge watched in tense silence.

"Yes…I see...yes…By all means, ambassador. We'll be waiting." She put down the handset, her face grim.

"What is it captain?" Arthur asked, worried.

"The Jovian diplomatic party has requested immediate evacuation," Talia replied. "Meyrin, order the hangar deck to prep a shuttle for immediate takeoff, and tell the infirmary to prepare for incoming casualties."

"Casualties?!" Arthur spluttered. "Captain, what's happening?!"

"I don't know Arthur!" Talia almost snapped. "Prince Daniel has apparently been injured, and the Jovians seem to think the Seiran administration is out to get them."

"Captain, does that mean…" He trailed off, the unspoken meaning hanging in the air. Talia glanced around the bridge, and saw them all staring at her, the question in their eyes.

"Meyrin," she said. "Prepare for ship-wide address."

"Yes captain." Meyrin tapped a few keys, then nodded. Talia picked up the handset again, and took a moment to master herself."

"All stations, this is the captain." A brief pause, as she marshalled her words. "No doubt you have heard of the situation on the mainland. I can safely say it has taken a turn for the worse. A few moments ago we received an urgent request from the Jovian diplomatic party, asking that we evacuate them from the territory of the Orb Union." She paused a moment.

"I won't lie to you all," she said. "While the situation remains unclear, the possibility that we'll be attacked cannot be ruled out." She cleared her throat.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear," she went on. "Uncertainty is a soldier's worst enemy. I know this, just as I know that giving sanctuary to the Jovians _may _increase the risk to this ship. But we are already at risk, and I for one will not abandon those who've sought our help in the hope of uncertain safety." Another pause.

"This is a combat vessel of the ZAFT forces, and we are leaving this place. We will not seek battle, but neither will we allow ourselves to be restrained. If the forces of the Orb Union seek to bar our way…then it will be upon their heads." She signed off, and sighed.

"_But will they?_" she wondered darkly. "_And will history be so considerate?_"

* * *

_**Archangel**_

"What the hell where you all thinking?! That was a really dumb move! You guys should know better!"

The atmosphere on the _Archangel_'s bridge was distinctly awkward. If those present had expected Cagalli to be overflowing with gratitude, they were in the process of being sorely disappointed. The demure, shy bride Kira had brought back a few moments ago had vanished, replaced by a vision of the apocalypse in the uniform of an ODF commander.

Cagalli stood on the bridge, shoulders squared, in the midst of a towering fury. Kira and Lacus stood before her, regarding her with sad looks. Prayer stood next to Lacus, trying not to look like a chastened schoolboy. Neumann sat at the pilot's station, head down in the hope of not drawing her attention. Murrue sat in the captain's chair, with Andrew Waltfeld at her side. Chief Murdoch stood a short distance away, hands on his hips, while Dalida Chandra watched from his own station. All four were glad to be out of the line of fire.

Fortunately for all concerned, the _Archangel _was safely submerged, and the Orb Defence Forces did not possess any submarines.

"Kidnapping a Head of State from her own wedding practically makes you international criminals!" Cagalli went on. "Who asked you to do something so…_stupid_?!"

"Miss Cagalli," Lacus began awkwardly.

"Yeah, we know," Andrew admitted. "It was a bit reckless. But…"

"But we really had no choice," Kira completed the sentence. Cagalli turned her head to face him, fixing him with a particularly imperious glare.

"These are crazy times, Cagalli," Kira continued, unabashed. "And if you insist on doing stupid things, then it's only going to get worse."

"What stupid things?!" demanded Cagalli.

"Kira…" Lacus pleaded, fearful of what was to come.

"Someone has to say it," Kira replied, putting his hand over hers. Cagalli _erupted._

"What do you mean _stupid things_!?" she roared. "I'm Orb's Chief Representative!" She squeezed her eyes shut as months of frustration and rage boiled over within her.

"I have _so _many things to worry about! And think about! And I _do_!"

"Do you think it's a good idea to side with the Atlantic Federation?" Kira asked mildly. "And that it's really in Orb's best interests that you marry Mr Seiran?"

Cagalli recoiled, the rage vanishing from her face.

"I…well…of course I do!" she stammered, trying to regain the initiative. "Why wouldn't I want to get married now?!"

One look into their eyes told her that it hadn't worked.

"I have no choice!" she shrieked. "How can you not understand?! How can you not see what's coming?! You were _there_! You were _all _there!"

Lacus' heart ached with sympathy, and the terrible knowledge of what she had learned, and what it had driven her to.

"I did the only thing I could!" Cagalli went on. "I had to do it! I had to _try _and stop the war!"

She glanced desperately from one face to another. There was sympathy in their eyes, but no support. They had all made up their minds.

"Is it worth it, Cagalli?" Kira met her gaze. "Is it worth the price you were about to pay? Is all that worth your life? Your happiness?"

"How can it not be?!" Cagalli snapped back. "What's my life compared to Orb?!" Her words hung in the air.

"So it's okay so long as Orb is safe?" Kira asked. "Nothing else matters, so long as Orb doesn't burn again?" His eyes flashed with anger, and for an instant Cagalli saw the Kira she had first met three years earlier on Heliopolis.

"No of course not! It's…"

"It's what the Seirans want, Cagalli." Kira's tone was cold and harsh. "They knew what they were doing. They don't care how many countries burn, or how many people die, so long as Orb survives and they rule it."

"I…!" Cagalli faltered, looking away as her heart tore itself asunder. "I…I had…to _try_…!"

The anger faded from Kira's eyes. His face softened with pity as Cagalli began to cry.

"There's blame to share," he said softly. "I should have come to you sooner. I should never have turned you down. I…I left you alone, Cagalli." He reached into his pocket, and drew out the ring she had sent to him a few days earlier.

"Please forgive me, Cagalli." He held out the ring, hoping he wasn't making a terrible mistake. Cagalli's misting eyes fixed on it, staring for a few moments, until she took it in shaking hands.

"All for nothing," she whispered, her voice croaking with unfathomable sorrow. "Now there'll be war. War…without end. Athrun…"

"It's not too late," Kira said, yearning to ease her agony. "We can still set things right." Cagalli looked up, staring around the bridge, looking into all their eyes as if she had never seen them before. She looked back at Kira, saw the smile on his face, and the light in his eyes. She let out a shuddering, racking sob, and Kira put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close.

"Let's do it together, Cagalli," he half-whispered, as she wept into his shoulder. "More importantly, let's do it _our _way."

After a few moments, Cagalli drew back her head to look him in the eyes. Smiling proudly, Kira stepped back.

"Chief Representative," Murrue said, straightening in her chair. "What are your orders?" Cagalli sniffed, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Kira's right," she said, her voice clearing as her old strength returned. "We'll stop this war ourselves. Is this ship ready to fight?"

"She's in full working order," Chief Murdoch replied with a grin. "But we've a only a skeleton crew, and no munitions or spare parts."  
"I know where we can get those," Cagalli said, straightening her back. "Captain Ramius."

"My lady?"

"Set a course for the Giga Float. Best possible speed."

"Aye aye, my lady!"

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Great, just great," Shinn Asuka snarled, glaring out of the standby lounge window. "We're stuck babysitting a bunch of Jovians! As if we didn't have enough problems!"

"Shinn, quit complaining!" Lunamaria Hawke retorted, slamming her locker shut. She was getting more than a little tired of his attitude. "It's not as if they're gonna take up much space. This doesn't cost us anything."

"They sided with Orb!" Shinn went on angrily. "They made a deal with those Seirans, and that so-called Chief Representative! And _now _they want out?"

"What do you suggest Shinn?!" Lunamaria put her hands on her hips. "You heard what the captain said! They've asked us to help them, and a ride isn't much all things considered!"

"Why?!" Shinn demanded, glowering. "For what reason?!"

"Oh I don't know," Lunamaria snarked. "Common humanity perhaps? The honour of ZAFT maybe?"

Shinn almost spat. He was truly sick of Orb, and had hoped to be well out in the open ocean and on the way to Carpentaria by now. That everyone else _insisted _on watching the so-called Chief Representative make a fool of herself in front of the entire world was annoying, but something he could tolerate so long as he didn't have to watch it himself. It meant staying out of the wardroom, but at least the shooting gallery had been quiet.

But now they would be delayed, because the captain had sent a shuttle to bring the Jovians over from Onamuji island. It was quicker than actually going over there, or waiting for the Jovians to find their own way, but it still meant going slow out of the harbour while they waited for the shuttle.

It also meant that he, Rey, and Lunamaria were on alert. The Orb forces hadn't made any overtly hostile moves for the moment, but the way things were going, there was no telling what might happen.

"Whatever!" Lunamaria snorted contemptuously. "We should go check our mobile suits. Rey's already down there." Shinn grunted in agreement. Carrying their helmets, the duo headed for the elevator.

"Listen, Shinn," Lunamaria said, as the doors closed. "I understand if you're on edge. This…_was _your country once."

"Save it, Lunamaria," Shinn replied coldly. "If the Orb forces attack this ship, they'll be my enemies for real. I'll do what I have to." Lunamaria glanced at him, wondering at the storm behind his eyes.

"It doesn't matter if you don't," she quipped, unable to stop herself. "I can always take the _Impulse _out if you're not up to it." She smiled. Shinn didn't.

"Shuttle secure!" Meyrin's voice came over the PA. "Ready hanger deck for combat launching."

"Ah," Lunamaria commented, her smile widening. "Our guests have arrived."  
She thought best not to say so aloud, but she had been rather looking forward to the Jovians' arrival. It meant an opportunity to see _him _again, and for him to see _her _piloting in action.

She giggled, eliciting a snort from Shinn. It wasn't that she was _all _that interested in Hannon, but he was quite the delectable specimen, and she was a young woman on the make. She might as well make the most of the opportunity, especially since that hottie Athrun Zala wasn't around.

The elevator reached the hangar deck. As they strode out, Shinn and Luna caught sight of the shuttle, sitting on one of the elevator platforms normally used by the _Impulse. _It was already being moved, ready for the _Impulse _fighter module to take its place, and a gaggle of people were hurrying in their direction. The ZAFT medics were clearly identifiable in green, while the others wore a mix of civilian garb and Jovian military uniforms. Lunamaria glanced from one to the other, looking for Hannon.

Her enthusiasm faded when he saw the gurney they were clustered around.

"Clear the way! Clear the way!" barked one of the ZAFT medics, gesticulating at Shinn and Lunamaria. The two pilots darted out the way as the gurney was hustled past. Lunamaria saw Hannon, but the grim look on his face brought her no pleasure. It merely drew her eyes down to the gurney's occupant.

It was Prince Daniel, his eyes closed. His mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask, but she could still see the dried blood where it had gushed from his nose and eyes.

"What the..?!" But the group hurried past her without another word. Lunamaria glanced at Shinn, but her question died in her throat. Shinn was staring after the gurney. He looked horrified.

"Shinn?"

* * *

"Hatches are closed and secured ma'am!"

Talia controlled her breathing, seeking that calm centre within herself. She looked up, gazing through the bridge viewports and out over the blue water.

She wanted to leave, to get the _Minerva _out away from Orb as quickly as possible. But Orb was a major shipping hub, with hundreds of ships moving in and out every day. The _Minerva _could take a beating, but she would do neither herself, the _Minerva _or ZAFT any favours by ramming her way out. They would have to take this slowly.

"Helm, harbour speed. Get us out of Orb waters."

"Yes ma'am."

Talia forced herself not to stare at the helmsman's back as she felt the _Minerva _come about.

"Sensors," she said. "Report contacts."  
"Thirty-two contacts within one hundred K," Bart Heim replied. "All show civilian transponders."

"Okay, keep an eye on them." Talia swallowed hard. She had let her nervousness get the better of her in asking the question. If she couldn't get a grip, the bridge crew would start to notice.

"_The only thing worse for a crew than a nervous captain_," one of her academy instructors had once quipped, "_is a captain they _know_ is nervous_."

Image was everything. For a captain, getting the _look _right was in many respects more important than prowess in combat. Some said a captain should be a vision of perfect control, aloof yet all-knowing, everywhere and yet nowhere. Others said a captain should be on a level with the crew to some extent, watching over them like a stern but genial and considerate father.

Or mother.

Talia was a new captain. The losses taken by the ZAFT fleet at Jachin Due had raised her straight to the white coat and command of the _Minerva. _Dead men's shoes had to be filled, but it had denied her the opportunity to learn from other officers, from other captains. She hadn't been able to spend a few years in the blackcoat ranks, learning for herself what motivated the enlisted men and women, and how best to lead them.

She would have to figure it out for herself.

The rear hatch slid open. Turning her chair to look, Talia saw Arthur Trine come striding in. He looked as nervous as she felt.

"How are our guests?" she asked, with forced levity.

"Alive and unhurt, but for his highness," Arthur replied gravely. Talia stood up and strode towards the hatch, Arthur following close behind. She felt the eyes of the bridge crew boring into her back as she stepped through, but there was no choice. She couldn't have them overhearing.

"Report," she said, when the door had closed.

"The prince is unconscious, but alive." Arthur glanced up the corridor, as if he feared someone might be listening. "There'd been a terrible nosebleed, but the CMO insists he's in no immediate danger."

"Any idea of what happened?"

"Not much ma'am. The Jovians just said he fell down some stairs."

"And you think they're lying?"

"It's plausible ma'am, except for what CMO Pavkovic told me. He said it was as if his brain had overloaded."

"Come again?"

"He said the brain scan showed signs of a massive surge in activity, with neurotransmitter and adrenalin levels well above normal. The arteries were so overstrained that they burst in the nasal cavity and sinuses."

Talia resisted the urge to bite her thumbnail as the revelations thundered through her mind. She thought back to her time as a medical student, searching for something, _anything_, that might explain it.

"Who knows about this?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed.

"Just the CMO and the infirmary staff," Arthur replied. "I told them to keep it to themselves."

"Good, because until you hear from a higher authority, this matter is classified top secret. Understood?"

"Yes captain."

Captain and vice-captain strode back onto the bridge and took their seats.

"Sensors, report contacts."

"Contacts are…wait…" Talia's head snapped round as Bart paused in his report. "Multiple contacts in formation to the south-east."

"Distance and heading?"

"Distance one hundred K. Course inbound."

Talia gripped the armrests of her chair.

"Active scanners! Identity them!"

"Active scanners online!" Malik Yardbirds called out. "Identifying…one _Aegis _class cruiser, two _Kuraokami_ class destroyers. It's their southern patrol group."

"Six more contacts to the north-west!" Bart barked. "Coming round Onamuji island. Fifty K and closing!"

"I have ID," Malik added coolly. "Two more cruisers, four destroyers."

Talia bit her lip. She was well past worrying how she appeared to her subordinates. But she could feel their eyes upon her.

"How long to international waters?"

"Thirty minutes ma'am."

She decided.

"Helm, increase to flank speed."

She felt the shudder through the deck plates as the _Minerva _accelerated. She also felt the tension rise, like walls pressing in all round her. They had not yet passed the point of no return, but it was getting very close very quickly.

"Airborne contacts north-east and north-west! Two of six!"

"Orb _Murasame_s in low altitude attack pattern! Firing range in two minutes!"

"Captain!" Arthur pleaded, sweat glistening just under his cap band.

"Meyrin, contact the _Murasame_s," Talia said, her voice clipped. "Ask them to state their business."

"Yes ma'am." Meyrin sounded scared, but set about her task without hesitation.

"One hundred seconds to firing range!"

"Message from ODF command, ma'am!" Meyrin called out.

"What are they saying?" Meyrin half-turned her chair, and Talia saw dread in her eyes.

"They're ordering us to switch off our scanners and return to port under escort," she said, sounding as much bewildered as afraid. "They're…accusing us of kidnapping the Jovians."

"What nonsense!" Arthur blurted out. "Captain, they can't possibly expect us to cooperate!"

"They don't" Talia growled.

"But then…?!" Arthur spluttered, his face pale.

"They're covering their butts," she went on, her brow furrowed, her shoulders hunched. "The law makes no allowances for timing."

She raised her head. Her voice was high and clear.

"Battle stations!"

* * *

Shinn's head snapped up in reflex as the klaxon began to wail.

"Upgrading to condition red!" Meyrin's voice called over the PA. "All mobile suits prepare for immediate launch! Rig for anti-aircraft and anti-mobile suit combat!"

It had come to this.

He glanced back over the hangar deck. He could see Lunamaria's red ZAKU _Warrior _and Rey's white ZAKU _Phantom _standing in their maintenance bays. Techs in green overalls were completing the final checks. He couldn't see either of his friends, meaning they were already in their cockpits, ready to go.

A part of him wished he could see them, wished he could see their eyes.

He shook his head, driving the thoughts away as Vino and Yolant came jogging over from the _Core Splendour_, standing on its platform in front of him.

"She's all yours Shinn!" Yolant called out as they halted before him. "Bring her back in once piece, okay?" Both saluted. Shinn forced himself to smile for their sake as he returned their salutes.

He dashed towards the blue and white fighter and vaulted into its cockpit. As the roof lowered above him, Shinn was already powering up. The HUD came alive before him, a panoply of lights and displays. Shinn's eyes flicked over them, taking in every detail.

Good to go.

He heard a metallic clunk, and felt the lift plate shift under him, moving him up towards the launch tunnel. The time had come.

"Meyrin here," said Meyrin's face on his comm screen. "Your targets are a flight of six _Murasame_s coming at us from the north-west. They're at low altitude, and they almost certainly intend to launch missile attacks on the _Minerva_."

"Right," Shinn said. "I'll intercept in the _Core Splendour_."

"Negative," Meyrin replied. "Your orders are to intercept them in mobile suit configuration. If they fire before you reach them, shoot as many missiles as you can, but prioritize the _Murasame_s."

Shinn suppressed a shiver of irritation at the suggestion that he couldn't take them on air-to-air. As light and manoeuvrable as the _Core Splendour _was, it was no match for a transforming aerial mobile suit like the _Murasame_, let alone a purpose-built fighter like ZAFT's _Infestus _or the EA's _Spearhead. _If he tried, he would likely just get an air-to-air missile in the face, Coordinator reflexes or no.

But in mobile suit configuration, there was at least a chance. At close range, a flight-capable mobile suit could engage targets in any direction, whereas a fighter could only attack what was directly in front of it. If he made it past their air-to-air missiles and got into firing range, the _Murasame_s would be forced to transform and face him as mobile suits, dumping any external munitions_. _

Shinn had to hand it to the captain. She knew what she was doing.

"Understood. I'm good to go."

The platform clunked to a halt, the inner hatch opening in front of him to reveal the launch tunnel. The sky ahead was bright and blue, with nary a cloud.

There would be clouds soon. Smoke clouds.

"All units stand by to launch!"

Shinn willed his heart to slow as the countdown began. He flexed his fingers, before curling them lightly around the joysticks.

"_Don't grip too hard. Don't react too quickly. Let it come naturally._"

4…3…2…1…

"_Core Splendour_! Taking off!"

Shinn felt inertia slam him against his seat as the electromagnetic plates along the tunnel walls hurled the _Core Splendour _forward. The _Minerva _fell away around him, and all he could see was blue sky. Shinn counted down the seconds in his head, then thumbed the engine ignition. The thrusters blazed, and Shinn felt the _Core Splendour _shift smoothly under him as he banked to his right. On his HUD, the icon for the chest flyer lit up as it was launched, followed swiftly by the legs flyer, and the _Force Silhouette. _He would need them in a few moments.

He glanced down at the scanner screen. It was still in passive mode, but icons representing the six _Murasame_s glowed bright. They were in a double triad formation; two in front, one above and behind. Shinn gritted his teeth. Likely the two behind would sacrifice themselves to let the other four get into firing range.

He keyed for air-to-air missiles. He had two tubes of six _Ladybird_s, but they had a range of only two kilometres, and it would take more than one to do any meaningful damage to a mobile suit. He keyed for a full spread, then looked up through the canopy.

There they were. Six of them, tiny dots in the near-distance, flying low as Meyrin had said. Holding the joystick steady with his right hand, Shinn reached for the sensor dial. As his fingers closed upon it, he paused. If he went to active scanning first, the _Murasame_s' passive scanners would have an instant fix. The delay would be no more than a couple of seconds, but it could make the difference between life and death.

Reach for the prize, or let it come to him?

How long could he afford to wait?

Shinn felt a cold hand clench his heart, and ice water in his veins. He was about to kill them. He _had _to kill them. And yet…

For a brief, horrible moment, he couldn't do it. He _despised_ Orb, but it was his home. He _loathed _Orb, yet it had nurtured him. He _hated _Orb, yet he had loved it.

His parents had loved it too. They had loved Orb enough to make their home there, and to bring their children into the world there.

Images of his parents, and his sister, flashed through his mind. What would they say if they could see him now? They would tell him not to do it. They would not want him to kill those people, those six pilots.

And why should he? What had they done to deserve it? It was Uzumi Nara Athha who had burned Orb for the sake of pride! Why should people like them, people like his parents, be the ones to take the blame?  
A electronic screech snapped Shinn back to reality. He glanced down at his HUD, wondering if it meant what he thought it meant.

They were actively scanning. They would have a firing solution within a second or two.

They would kill him. They would attack the _Minerva. _They would kill his friends. They would kill the Jovians, whom only hours ago they had called friends.

He could see his friends in his mind's eye. He saw Lunamaria and Rey, Meyrin, Vino and Yolant. He saw Daniel, unconscious on the gurney, his face red with blood.

With a shout of fury, Shinn squeezed the triggers. The missiles burst forth, white contrails criss-crossing the sky as they sped towards the _Murasame_s. Shinn keyed to transform, and felt his chest tighten as the _Core Splendour _curled up on itself, his seat gimballing around to stay level. It took only seconds for the chest flyer and leg flyer to catch up and take up position, but even that might be enough to doom him.

The screens came online. Shinn snarled a curse as he saw the lower _Murasame_s, still in formation and still approaching. One of the upper two was tumbling away in a stream of black smoke, but the other was coming straight at him.

"No!" Shinn roared, bringing up the _Impulse_'s beam rifle. He fired, sending a burst of particle beams straight at the oncoming _Murasame_. The orange and white machine blew apart, and Shinn spun the _Impulse around _as the lower four passed underneath. He almost cried out as he saw the _Minerva _there, wreathed in a bow wave of white foam, smoking from a direct hit.

"You can't have him!" Shinn fired the beam rifle again, downing another _Murasame_. He took aim on another, and saw the white contrails lancing out from under their wings.

* * *

_**Minerva**_

"Missiles inbound! Impact sixty seconds!"

"Twenty to port!" Talia barked. "Weapons free!"

She felt the _Minerva _come about, the manoeuvre painfully sluggish compared to what she was used to. Gravity was as unforgiving as the sea.

"Chaff firing!" yelled one of the gunners. "Guns firing!"

Talia gritted her teeth. The _Minerva _carried twelve 40mm rotary CIWS, each one powerful enough to shred a mobile suit and precise enough to hit a free-fall bomb. If they couldn't stop the barrage, nothing could.

"Number seven gun lockup! Rebooting!"

"Intercept failed! Incoming!"

"All hands!" Arthur roared. "Brace for impact!"

Talia gripped the armrests of her chair, her knuckles turning white. The _Minerva _lurched as the missiles struck.

"Damage report!"

"Two direct hits on the starboard side! The armour held!" There were sighs of relief.

"Barrage incoming! Impact ten seconds!"

"Evasive manoeuvres!"

The bridge was dark, but for the light from the duty stations. Lowered for combat, without natural light or any view except from the viewscreens, the atmosphere was dark and oppressive. Talia could not see the shells screaming in, or the plumes of white water thrown up as they landed. But she could feel the shudder and rumble as one or two struck home. She felt sick inside as she pictured the armour torn open, the bulkheads breached and twisted, the black smoke billowing into the sky, the remains…

"What's the status of the southern group?!" she demanded.

"Destroyers are down!" Malik replied. "Scanners offline. The cruiser's still active!"

Talia cursed as she pictured the _Aegis _class cruiser, its distinctive tumblehome hull cutting through the water like a blade, leaking smoke from the hit she was _certain _they had scored in the last missile attack. She wondered what was driving its captain, its crew, to keep on fighting after taking such a blow.

"_Leave, damn you_!" she thought, staring at the cruiser's icon on the tactical monitor. "_Disengage! Don't make me finish you off!_"

"Status of the northern group?!"

"Continuing on current course! Scanners active!"

"_Tristans _and _Isoulde,_" target the northern group!" Arthur ordered. "Gunners fire as you bear!"

"Southern cruiser is launching! Missiles inbound!"

"_So,_" Talia thought. "_You choose death._"

"All _Parsifal_s!" Arthur roared. "Return fire!" The ship shuddered as the anti-ship missiles leapt from their tubes, soaring away over the waters on white contrails. Talia watched as the missiles disappeared over the horizon, knowing how their journey would end. Her eyes switched to the tactical monitor, the eight icons racing across the screen towards the cruiser icon, closer and closer, inexorable.

"Thermal spike!" Bart called. "We got'em!"

"Northern group firing!" Malik interjected. "ASROC barrage!"

The Orb warships to the north were too close to use their heavy ship-killers. ASROC was normally used against submarines, but here it would work just as well.

"Maximum speed!" Talia yelled. She felt the _Minerva _accelerate, but knew with a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be enough as the ASROC fell from the sky like rain. The _Minerva _shuddered and shook as they landed, the near-misses wreathing the ship in white spray.

"Damage report!"

"Main sensors are down! Guns two, three, five, eight, and nine offline! Multiple hull breaches topside! Fire control teams to deck two aft!"

Talia fought to master herself as her heart clenched.

"_Isoulde_!" Arthur barked. "Return fire!" The _Minerva _bucked as the three-barrelled M10 _Isoulde _opened up, sending a trio of shells back towards the Orb warships. Talia wished she could add the firepower of the two twin-barrelled _Tristan _beam cannons, but by their nature they could only fire what they could see, at least on Earth. The Orb warships had not yet come over the horizon, and under the circumstances had no reason to.

"Meyrin!" She turned to the CIC station. "What's Shinn's status?!"

"He's holding ma'am, but he's got about five minutes of power left!"

"Northern group launching!" Malik barked. "Six _Murasame_s! They're heading for the _Impulse_!"

Talia almost cried out in protest.

"How are Lunamaria and Rey?!"

"No contacts in their zone!" Meyrin replied.

"Tell them to get over to the _Impulse_!" Talia roared. "Shinn needs help!"

Shinn levelled the beam rifle, picking one of the three mobile suits as they transformed. One vanished in a flash of light, but the other two had finished transforming. Shinn slammed down the pedals, dodging their return fire.

"I'll protect them!" He fired again, blowing another apart as it finished transforming. Its comrade leapt at him, thrusters blazing, pulling a beam saber from its hip. Shinn dived, drawing his own saber from the _Impulse_'s back. The _Murasame _swung at the _Impulse_'s waist, seeking to cut it in half. Shinn boosted straight up, kicking _Impulse_'s legs back to somersault over the blade. He sliced as he passed overhead, his saber cutting into the _Murasame'_s back. Shinn dropped away as the _Murasame _exploded.

"_Minerva_! I got them! What's your stat?!"

"We're holding our own for now!" Meyrin looked harassed. "Luna and Rey have dealt with theirs!"

"Meyrin, ready the _Sword Silhouette_!" Shinn barked. "I'll take out those ships coming round the island!"

"Shinn you can't!" Meyrin cried. "There's more _Murasame_s coming at you! Six from below!"

"Just get it ready! I'll deal with them!"

The _Impulse_'s sensors pinged with new contacts, as if on cue. Shinn snarled as the HUD beeped, warning of weapons locks. He threw the _Impulse _into a roll as two of them fired their missiles. The missiles shot past, and Shinn brought the _Impulse _up and around. He saw three of the _Murasame_s levelling off in mobile suit mode, levelling their beam rifles at him. Shinn accelerated towards them, barely avoiding the hissing, searing particle beams as they flashed past. The trio split apart as he approached, but Shinn was already reacting, breaking off to follow the one heading down and left. The _Murasame_ fired frantically, but Shinn would not relent. He shot past, his momentum carrying his blade clean through the _Murasame_'s waist.

One down, but five remained. Shinn spun the _Impulse _to face them, barely evading the fusillade of particle beams. Three of them had formed another triad in front of him, the other two flying away above and below.

Shinn felt himself beginning to panic. He had seen manoeuvres like it before, back at Junius Seven. They were trying to outflank him, to box him in with bracketing fire and wear him down.

It was working.

Shinn fired his beam rifle, the shot slicing through a _Murasame_'s wing and sending it tumbling out of the fight. He fired, missed, fired again, missed again, and warning buzzers screamed as a shot severed the _Impulse_'s right leg. Shinn cried out as he lost control, the _Impulse _tumbling end over end. He tried to stabilize, but without the right leg's vernier thrusters it was that much harder. The _Impulse _shook as more beams hit, the buzzers squawking louder and louder.

He was going to die.

They had beaten him. They had maimed his mobile suit. He was falling.

He was going to die.

This was what he had lived for. This was what he had survived for. All his life, all his effort, all his pain, led to this.

The sound of the buzzers faded into silence. Time seemed to slow down. His entire body had frozen solid, cold and numb but for the pounding of his heart. His consciousness shrank, as if fleeing from the fate that awaited it.

Then it _exploded_.

Shinn was moving. The _Impulse _responded as if it were his own body. He came about, bringing up his beam rifle as the _Murasame_s dived on what they thought was a mortally wounded enemy. He fired, blowing one, then another, and another of the _Murasame_s apart. The two survivors broke left and right, but Shinn was already moving, banking left as he had done before.

But this time was different. He wasn't trying to predict the enemy. He had _known _he would go that way. He had _felt _it. Just as he could feel the _Murasame _trying to turn, drawing its beam saber. The _Murasame _came at him, but its movements were sluggish, as if moving in slow motion. Shinn jinked past its stroke, the glowing saber hissing through empty air, and cut the _Murasame _in half.

* * *

Rey was awestruck.

He had known for some time that Shinn Asuka was a capable pilot. He had seen something in his old classmate that others had not, a…_potential _that defied easy explanation. He had told Chairman Durandal, and the Chairman had agreed with him, going so far as to ensure that Shinn was chosen as the test pilot of the _Impulse_. It was, they had both reasoned, an opportunity to see just what that taciturn, bad-tempered young man was capable of.

It was paying off, and how.

"Did you see that?!" Lunamaria gasped over the comm. "He's tearing them a new one!"

Rey could see. He could see the maimed _Impulse _tearing its way through the _Murasame_s, making Orb's elite mobile suit corps look like a pack of blithering incompetents. He could see the wreckage tumbling away, wreathed in smoke and flame.

Lunamaria could not see what he saw, or feel what he felt. She could not sense Shinn as he did, blazing in the distance like a newborn star. She did not know, and could never know, what Shinn truly was.

But _he_ knew.

"Lunamaria, how's your battery?"

"Another ten minutes maybe," Lunamaria replied. "We should finish this up fast!"

Rey glanced sideways at the red ZAKU _Warrior_, holding position alongside his ZAKU _Phantom_. The shield covering the red ZAKU's left pauldron had been shot away, and the armour was scored and blackened in places, but there seemed no immediate danger.

"Agreed," he said, and keyed for the _Impulse_. "Shinn, are you all right?"

There was no reply. The _Impulse _did not even acknowledge his message.

"Shinn!" he repeated, almost shouting. "Shinn! Respond!"

As the last _Murasame _fell away, the _Impulse _turned, facing the line of Orb warships rounding a promontory a few kilometres away. Rey could see flashes and puffs of smoke as the ships fired off their deck guns, tormenting the _Minerva _with a hail of gunfire.

"Shinn!" he yelled, his heart skipping a beat as he realised his friend's intent. "Wait! You can't…!"

The proximity alarm beeped insistently, and Rey had to pull hard on the joystick to avoid the _Sword Silhouette. _The drone flashed past, followed an instant later by the spare leg flyer, both banking to rendezvous with the damaged _Impulse. _

"Shinn!" he pleaded, as the _Impulse _transformed. "Shinn! Answer me!"

The newly-transformed _Impulse _dived towards the ships, red armour gleaming in the sunlight. Rey stared in horrified disbelief, tinged with despair at the knowledge that no word of his would make a difference.

It could not be. Even the _Impulse _couldn't take on six high-tech, fully upgraded warships. Did Shinn not know?

Or did he not care?

But through his despair, Rey could still feel Shinn's presence as it blazed towards the ships. Something about it, something he couldn't put into words, made him _believe _that he could do it.

"Lunamaria?"

"Right!" she replied. Her face on his comm screen was set, her eyes bright. "If Shinn wants to die that badly, he's not going alone."

Rey did not reply. There was nothing more to be said.

He pressed his feet down on the pedals, and thumbed the joystick control. The _Blaze _Wizard pack's thrusters ignited, the verniers aiming him down towards the ships. Beside him Lunamaria did likewise, banking away to flank Shinn on the other side. Rey ignored the scanner warning buzzer, keying calmly to reload his beam rifle. The danger from the ship's defences mattered not, for so long as he and Lunamaria were there, Shinn's chances of survival were increased by two thirds.

It was worth it.

The buzzing became an electronic screech as a cluster of white contrails reached up from the deck of the nearest warship, an Orb _Kuraokami _class destroyer. Rey keyed for the autocannons housed in his ZAKU's forehead, setting them to automatic. The guns chattered, lines of tracer reaching down to spear the rising missiles. Some exploded, but others continued, accelerating as they ascended towards him. Rey fired his beam rifle, finishing off the spread.

The warship's guns opened up, filling the sky around him with tracer. Rey jinked wildly, but could feel the bullets tearing at his mobile suit's armour. He strained his eyes for any sight of the guns, knowing that if he didn't take them out soon he would be shredded. He spotted one and fired, the emerald beam blowing the turret apart. Thinking fast, Rey drew a bead on its counterpart to the front, destroying it with a quick burst. The gunfire slackened, then faded to nothing as Rey manoeuvred his ZAKU around the destroyer's superstructure.

A thermal spike on the sensor screen, followed an instant later by a gust of hot wind, drew his attention to his right. There lay one of the _Aegis _class cruisers, smoke billowing from its wrecked forward gun turret. The _Impulse _stood on the burning deck, twin _Excalibur _swords glowing in its hands. Rey watched as Shinn drew one of the blades across the cruiser's bridge, then leapt for the sky as flames blossomed from the shattered viewports. The _Impulse_ drew its beam rifle, firing straight down into the vertical launchers. The cruiser exploded with a thunderclap, clouds of grey and black billowing out around it.

Rey looked back at the destroyer, staring straight into the bridge. He could just make out the figures behind the viewports, their faces staring back at him.

He fired, blasting off as the bridge exploded in a fireball. Gaining altitude, he saw Lunamaria blasting away from a burning hulk that had been the rearmost destroyer. An instant later there was another explosion as the second cruiser went the way of the first. That left two destroyers, both of them on the seaward side of the formation and moving away as fast as they could. Already Shinn was pursuing one of them.

"Lunamaria" Rey said. "Let's finish this."

"Right!"

* * *

_**Onamuji Island**_

The _Minerva _continued on its way, a trail of destruction behind it.

Rondo Mina Sahaku stood on the coast, watching the ZAFT warship take its leave. A pall of smoke hung around the distant promontory, marking the graves of those who had sought to bar her way.

"So, Reverend," Rondo Mina commented to her silent companion. "You think we did the right thing?"

"There's no simple answer to that," Reverend Malchio replied. Rondo Mina was sure he was blind, yet he seemed to have his sightless gaze fixed firmly on the shrinking outline of the _Minerva_.

"I suppose if things really were that simple," she mused, "the last war would have taken place long ago."

"You may be right."

They stood in silence for a while, watching until the _Minerva _had vanished over the horizon.

"As I see it, we'll just have to trust in them," Rondo Mina said wistfully. "In them, and that we did the right thing."

"We could," replied the priest. "But my money's on Prayer Reverie."

"You're fond of that boy, aren't you," Rondo Mina commented with a vulpine smile.

"I am," Malchio admitted. "He represents a considerable investment."

"Investment?" Rondo Mina chuckled in spite of herself. "I never took you for a businessman."

"An investment of resources," Malchio retorted, a hard edge in his tone. "An investment of faith." His voice softened. "And of love."

Rondo Mina decided to press no further. There was an…_understanding_ between the two of them, albeit not a conventional one. It was based on tolerance rather than trust, which sometimes meant leaving questions unasked, and answers unsaid.

"Well then, Reverend," she said, more cheerfully. "Shall we see to our Martian friends?"

"As you wish, Lady Sahaku."

* * *

**Another chapter done at long last. I was thinking of making the chapters shorter, but I wanted to get things caught up, so this one kind of dragged. **

** The main point to cover here will be Daniel's 'power'. It falls broadly into the 'Newtype' category, and is similar to that displayed by the various La Flagas (Mu la Flaga, Rau le Creuset, Prayer Reverie, Rey za Burrell, etc). I know I'm skirting Gary Stu territory by giving him this power, but I've tried to balance it out by making it not entirely under his control and not entirely helpful. It manifests primarily as empathy, meaning he has a tendency to pick up on other people's emotions, often whether he wants to or not. Him psy-blasting Yuna was inspired by the scene in ZZ when Judau attacks Haman, but with more extreme results. I don't know if the bleeding from nose and eyes makes any sense medically (beyond that blood vessels bursting inside his brain would probably have killed him), but I thought it useful as a narrative device. The wider significance of all this will be revealed later. **

** As a minor point, I ran Daniel through 's Mary Sue litmus test. He scored 15, so I feel justified with him.**

**EDIT - I forgot that the Force Silhouette doesn't have the beam boomerangs, so I wrote those out. Thanks to Wing Zero Alpha for pointing it out, and apologies for the error. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_People sometimes ask me what I love most in the world. If I had to give an honest answer, it would be the company of friends and loved ones. Occasionally I am asked what I hate most in the world. Some are shocked that such a question is even conceivable, for all too many see me as a saint, an angel incapable of something so crude, so human, as to hate or dislike. _

_I am not a goddess, nor an angel, nor a perfect being. I am a human woman, and I am capable of hatred. This is not to say that I approve of hatred; it is a vice to be sought out within ourselves, and resisted whenever it rears its head. With reason I unpick my feelings, and with my heart I accept and understand them, as best as I am able. _

_But yes, there is something that elicits anger and hate in me. I fight it, and overcome it, but it never completely goes away, for I see it so very often. I try my best not to hate those who commit these deeds, but I cannot help but hate the deeds themselves._

_It is bad enough when people take advantage of one-another by manipulating their negative feelings; their anger, their fear, their suffering. It is all too easy to enslave others by stirring up their fear, by nurturing anger, by blaming their pain on that which you wish to destroy. But it is worse, a thousand times worse, to manipulate others through their better natures. To control someone through their love, their compassion, by making a wicked deed seem a benevolent act; I can think of nothing more evil, more hateful. _

_Lacus Clyne _

_**Then**_

_**Euphemus, Jupiter, March 5**__**th**__** CE 24 **_

He was free.

Space loomed vast around him, bright with the light of distant stars. The touch of a pedal could make him go faster. The twitch of a joystick could set him on any course he wished.

He was free.

And for George Glenn, such freedom was a pleasure to be savoured. It was the first real taste of it they had permitted him since he had met Solomon Zeus, and been taken into his service. Even if it was only for that service that he had been allowed to fly the battlepod, it felt good to do it.

The viewscreens stretched out around him, covering the cockpit roof from around level with his head right down to the dashboard. George raised his head, taking in the view. Europa was clearly visible, its white surface marred with brown blotches and rust-red streaks, snaking and curving across the ice, putting him in mind of a giant, bloodshot eye.

Almost a hundred years ago the Europans' ancestors had reached that cold, unwelcoming moon. George could not help but be mystified by the fact, and a little hurt. Could that beautiful blue Earth, for which his heart so longed, have been so terrible a place back then? What could have possessed those people to leave it behind for somewhere like Europa? How could a life spent in space suits, or in cramped underground habitats, have compared to open air, green trees, and cool blue water?

He wasn't old enough to remember much of the Reconstruction Wars. Reliable information was sketchy, since so many records had been lost. The period had become a new dark age, a fifty-year blip in humanity's recent history.

But he knew what others had told him. He knew from his parents and others of their generation, those who had grown to adulthood in those times. He had seen the faces of the old men and women who had endured it for far longer.

He would not soon forget their faces, or their tears.

George glanced down at the dashboard, at a gauge he had been keeping a close eye on ever since the flight began.

It was high. Worryingly so.

George drew the joysticks gently to the right, easing down the pedals as the battlepod turned back towards Euphemus. The asteroid loomed larger and larger as he accelerated towards it, a mass of grey rock pock-marked with impact craters. As he drew closer, he could make out the sealed hatches, some small, some large, marking the asteroid's true nature.

One of the larger hatches was open, waiting for him. George eased the battlepod alongside the asteroid, drawing closer and closer until the curvature of its surface was barely perceptible. The HUD beeped, and a reticule flashed on his screen, surrounding the buoy as it drifted in space ahead of him. It was a simple matter for an experienced astronaut like George to manoeuvre the battlepod up and around the buoy until facing straight down, then slot the nose into the buoy.

The HUD informed him that the mag-locks were secure, and that berthing was underway. There was nothing more for George to do but wait, as the buoy was slowly wheeled in, hauling the battlepod down, from his perspective, and into the hangar. The round hatch seemed to grow larger with every passing moment, like a giant mouth opening to swallow him whole. George felt his stomach clench. He began to control his breathing, mastering himself against the atavism.

He felt the clunk as the battlepod was secured in place. After a few moments, the HUD informed him that the atmosphere outside was breathable. With a clunk the cockpit hatch swung up, revealing a narrow, bony face atop a lean, blue-suited body looking superciliously at him from the gantry.

"Is there a problem, _Mister _Glenn?"

George had to resist the urge to plant his balled fist right in Lian Costello's smug face.

"Problem?" he retorted, swinging out of the battlepod's cockpit. "Oh no problem at all, _Chief Engineer _Costello." He took hold of the handrail and eased himself down onto the gantry, his magnetic boots pulling him down with a clunk.

"Not unless," he went on, "you count my dying of radiation poisoning."

"We were confident your…_unusual _physiology would be capable of resisting it," Costello replied mildly. "Especially after such a short flight." He ran a small hand-held scanner over George, and chuckled. "You're barely even sparkling."

"I'm sure." George didn't bother to conceal his sarcasm. He had encountered enough characters like Costello to know the type.

"Of course." Costello's smile widened into a smirk. "Some pilots manage as many as four combat missions before the radiation damage becomes debilitating. The current record is six."

"Refreshingly honest of you." The revelation was not much of a surprise, but it still made him want to spit. After a year spent working for House Zeus on their secret Euphemus base, he had learnt a great deal about what Europa's ruling elite was capable of.

"Have I not always been honest with you Mister Glenn? Has the Master not always been honest about the situation here?"

"Then I'll be honest with you, Chief Engineer. _This,_" George jabbed an accusing finger at the battlepod, "is a death trap."

"Of course it is," Costello retorted sourly. "The Assembly doesn't want to pay any more than it has to, at least not for the defence forces. House Guards get the real money, surely you know that." He gave a cynical chuckle, which vanished as George strode forward and grabbed him by the front of his pale blue tunic. The Coordinator leaned in close, eyes blazing, heart burning.

"How many have died because of it?!" he demanded. "How many are still dying because of it?!"

"Don't act righteous with me." Costello's tone was sour, his countenance cold as the void outside. "Those pilots came from the same place I did."

Though fury burned in his heart, George made himself let go of Costello's tunic. Beating the wretched man to a pulp would be satisfying, but it would gain him nothing.

And he might just have been telling the truth.

"If we can be civilized about this," Costello said tersely. "Did you get any other useful impressions from your flight?" He turned and walked towards the hatch. George fell in beside him, their magnetic boots clunking on the gantry below them.

"The basic concept is fine," George said, as they stepped through the hatch and into the corridor beyond. The corridors walls, floor, and ceiling were all of metal, the cold light coming from the illumination strips in the ceiling giving it a sterile feeling. "And though it sickens me to admit it, I understand the logic of using human pilots."

"The logic is more than proven, Mister Glenn. It was proven at the Battle of Metis, five years ago. Humans can out-think any AI cheap enough to be put in a drone, and our electronic countermeasures could degrade any datalink even back then." Costello gave George a sideways smile. "With your help this past year, our ECM capabilities have improved substantially. Even Callisto's vaunted machines won't be able to stop us."

"So that's what this is about." George sighed through gritted teeth. "You want my help to beat Callisto. Isn't your boss thinking a little far ahead?"

"Is it that much of a problem?"

"What's Callisto ever done to me that I should help you defeat them? And your boss doesn't even have control of Europa yet." They stopped in the empty corridor. "That is what he's planning, isn't it?"

There was a pause. Costello sighed, and gave George a patient look.

"Do not put your hopes in Callisto, Mister Glenn," he said. "Nor in Ganymede. They follow the Founders' Order much as Europa does, though they are better organised. Only Io has truly escaped, and you _really _don't want to go there."

"Then why are you here?" George asked, irritated. "What's so special about Solomon Zeus compared to all of them? Is he not a Founder too?"

Costello looked him in the eyes, and George saw that they were hard and cold, more so than he had ever seen them.

"The Master allowed me to be more than I could ever be anywhere else." His voice was cold and hard. "The life I lead here is better than anything I could have hoped for. Most importantly, he allowed me to discover my full potential, and to make use of it. If only for that, he has earned my loyalty."

"Well he hasn't earned _mine_!" George growled back. Costello sighed, as if he were dealing with a difficult child.

"You've been very helpful, Mister Glenn. But your attitude still leaves a lot to be desired. Is the service of House Zeus _that _hard to bear?"

George did not reply straight away. For a few moments the only sound was the hum of the lights.

"I could say that your society is an affront to everything I believe," he growled. "But that would be empty posturing. Besides," he deflated somewhat, "I didn't have to come to Jupiter to find something like that."

"Well then," Costello said, in a more business-like manner. Perhaps you'd care to know _why _we sent you out on that flight."

"I would."

Costello gestured along the corridor, and they set off again.

"The Master suggested it," Costello explained. "He thought that it would help you to understand what this project is all about."

"I see," George mused. "And you of course want to know how I would improve it."

"Radiation shielding is a priority, before you ask. The radiation protection systems on your _Tsiolkovsky _are quite impressive. I'm sure you can scale one or two of them down."

"I might," George admitted, his anger and sorrow fading as his creative aspect swung into action. "But I'll need to see your plans before I can contribute anything."

"I can do better than that, Mister Glenn." Costello's thin face split into a reptilian smile. "I can show you what we're working with."

Intrigued, George followed Costello through a series of corridors, eventually reaching a security door guarded by two Zeus House Guard troopers in blue. The guards snapped to attention as they approached, standing statue-still as Costello ran his ID card through the reader, typed in his code, and pressed his palm to the scanner. The heavy doors slid open.

George stepped through, staring up at the monolith in the centre of the chamber beyond.

It was quite large, about sixteen metres tall as it stood before him, and coloured bronze. The shape was vaguely human, but with broad, flaring legs around wide feet and a short, fat torso. Its arms extended from spherical shoulders, ending in fat-fingered hands. The head was short and squat, barely rising above the torso, its only feature an enormous camera lens in the middle.

"What is this?" George asked, awestruck.

"A perfectly normal _Atlas _labour mech," Costello replied, smiling. "Many thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of these machines can be found all across Europa and her colonies. What do you think of it?"

"You're planning to make a new battlepod out of _this_?" George looked at Costello as if he was wearing his underpants on his head.

"You think it can't work?"

"Well…" George strode in a circle around the _Atlas_, taking in every detail. As his eyes scanned over the joints, the servomotors, the exposed cables, his thoughts turned to the past, to happier times back on Earth.

"_We built such wonderful things back then_."

Despite his resentment, despite his guilt, the old instincts were still sharp. He pictured the mech in his mind's eye, effortlessly overlaying the battlepod on it. His imagination could compare them easily; the broadly humaniform _Atlas _with the vague oval of the battlepod, the arms and legs with the articulated gunpods and the variable-geometry thrusters. To these visions he added the relevant details; the effects of gravity, the delta-V requirement, the effect of additional armour, of weapons. For a few moments, he rediscovered that same transcendent joy of invention he had known back on Earth, of which the _Tsiolkovsky _had been the ultimate expression.

Anger and remorse flooded through him. Had it been _his _idea to tempt him with the joy of creation? Or was it Solomon Zeus? Could that old fossil _really _have seen right through him?

Was there any point in resisting?

"Your verdict?" Costello asked, as George returned.

"As it is it won't work, but we both knew that. It needs a lot more thrust, a lot more armour, and some decent weaponry."

"But it could work?"

"It _might _work," George allowed cautiously. "It depends on what you have in mind."  
"We intend to change its nature," Costello replied, with a fervour in his tone that George hadn't thought him capable of. "Just as we will change Europa, and all of Jupiter. The Founders named it _Atlas_, for in his punishment they see themselves, making his agony their virtue. With your help, we shall make it _Talos_, the gift of Zeus to Europa. And like Zeus, we shall cast down the Titans, and begin the new age."

George stared up at the machine, wondering if Costello's new age was something he wanted any part of.

* * *

_**Now**_

_**ZAFT Carpentaria Base, November 10**__**th**__** CE 73.**_

Shinn Asuka had never been to Carpentaria before.

The view as the Minerva came in to dock had impressed him greatly. The main feature was a long runway, reaching out into the bay on an artificial plateau, with piers and transit platforms extending out from it like the branches of a tree. Like the onshore buildings, they had been dropped from orbit early in the Bloody Valentine war. Thanks to that, the base had been brought online in less than two months, a feat of military engineering unmatched in history.

And the welcome! Shinn had expected the battered Minerva to limp into Carpentaria under cover of darkness, hidden in shame. But instead the entire base had turned out to greet them, or so it had seemed. Vosgulov class submarines had lain alongside frigates of the Oceania Union Navy to form a guard of honour, their crews lining the decks to salute and give three cheers as the wounded Minerva had sailed proudly past. He could see the base personnel, a sea of green and red and white and black, lined up to greet the conquering heroes.

Conquering heroes? It hadn't seemed that way at the time. More like fighting for their lives.

Shinn still wasn't sure what to think about that battle. In a way it was an epiphany, a clearing of the way. Orb had shown its true colours, and he had fought to protect his ship, and his true comrades. Whatever debt he might have owed Orb was null and void in the face of their treachery. The bonds had finally been broken.

So why had he felt so depressed that night?

But that wasn't the whole of it. His mind kept returning to the battle, to those strange moments when the world had seemed to fall away. There had been no fear, no hate, no regret. There had been no life, no death, no existence. There was only the targets, only the fight. Never in all the testing, all the training, all the battles, had he felt anything like it.

He only hoped it would return when he needed it. If he was honest, he was enjoying being the hero. In the blink of an eye he had gone from being the Minerva's embarrassment to its pride. He had seen it in the eyes his fellow crew members, in the looks on their faces. He had heard it in their whispered conversations, and the giggles.

If only he had been there.

Shinn still wasn't sure why, but he had wanted to see Prince Daniel. The Captain had said that he was going to be fine, but Shinn had wanted to see him awake and well. The image of him laid on the gurney, his face covered in blood, had lingered him ever since that day.

But why did he even care? He was glad that the Prince was okay, but surely that was just human compassion. It wasn't as if they were friends, or that they would even see each other again. Why did it matter so much?

"He's there."

The voice startled Shinn from his reverie. He glanced up, and saw Rey za Burrell standing next to him, staring through the viewport at the pier beyond. Shinn squinted at the mass of officers and dignitaries, wondering who had caught his friend's attention.

Then he saw.

"Hey you're right," commented Lunamaria Hawke, stepping up at his other side. "To think the Chairman would come here in person. And check out those crowds!"

Shinn followed her line of sight, and saw what she meant. Out beyond the base perimeter he could see the people. They thronged at the fence, waving flags and carrying banners. The flags were the green and red of ZAFT, but also the purple of Jupiter, and he could make out messages of welcome and joy on the banners and signs.

He was a little surprised. ZAFT had not come to Carpentaria under the best of circumstances after all. Then again, Chairman Durandal had gone out of his way to improve relations with the Oceania Union and the African Community, ZAFT's only allies on the surface. His diplomacy and generosity must have borne fruit after all, at least in this city.

"Here they come," Lunamaria hissed. Shinn looked up, wondering for a moment what she meant. He snapped to attention, forming a neat line with his fellow pilots, as Captain Gladys approached.

"Ah, pilots," she said, smiling proudly as she and her party came to a halt in front of the redcoat trio. "Before we face the media circus, one of our esteemed guests has something to say." Shinn's heart skipped a beat as he saw the blue-uniformed Jovians standing behind her and Arthur Trine.

For among them was Prince Daniel. His uniform had been cleaned and pressed, but his face was pale and drawn. Despite it there was a smile on his face.

"Pilots." He paused, as if choosing his words. "I wanted to…that is to say…" He trailed off. The atmosphere was getting awkward.

"The Captain has told me," Daniel went on, seeming to find himself, "that were it not for your efforts, this ship would have been sunk. As such, we owe you our lives." He lowered his head, with an apparent humility that Shinn had thought impossible for one of his status.

"Pilots…my friends…I am profoundly grateful."

"Your Royal Highness need not bow to us," Rey replied elegantly, returning the gesture with a formal bow of his own. "We did only as duty and honour required. We are all of us glad to be of help."

"All the same, I thank you." Shinn's heart froze again as those green eyes met his own.

"Pilot Shinn Asuka," Daniel said, turning to face him directly. "Captain Gladys tells me your efforts were the greatest on that day. I only wish I was awake to see you in action."

"I, uh…" Shinn's voice died in his throat. "I…I did what I had to do…uh, your highness."

Shinn wished the deck would swallow him up. Behind Daniel he could see Arthur Trine, in the early stages of a panic attack. He could see the Prince's three bodyguards too; the older two were making a great show of looking away, while the young girl looked about to burst out laughing.

"I understand if you had other reasons." Daniel pulled the glove from his right hand and held it out. "But all the same, I thank you."

Shinn couldn't move. He saw only sincerity in Daniel's eyes, despite his flowery words, but his limbs had turned to lead. It took all his will to bring up his hand and close it around the Prince's.

"Oh, forgive me." Daniel's smile faltered. "I've made you uncomfortable."

"Perhaps we should be getting on, your highness," ambassador Brand interjected. As if on cue, gunfire reverberated across the bay as the salute began.

"Yes, of course." Daniel stood back from Shinn, acknowledged each of them with a nod, and followed after the Captain. Talia shot Shinn a sympathetic smile as she stepped through the hatch, and Ninin followed up with a giggle. As the last of them stepped through the hatch, Shinn could hear the barked commands and the clatter of rifles coming to present arms. He turned to watch the ceremony through the viewport, as the notes of Holst's Jupiter carried through the open hatch.

"_Someday my prince will come_…" Lunamaria trilled, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shut up Luna!"

* * *

_**Giga Float, Indian Ocean, November 12**__**th**_

As the door of the communications suite slid closed, Cagalli drew in a breath.

She was taking a risk, a big risk. The administrator had promised her complete privacy and confidentiality, but instinct and experience told her that such promises counted for very little. Governments and companies alike did their utmost to keep their communications secure, but they'd been fighting a losing battle for almost two centuries. There was _always _the chance that someone would be listening, if not at this end, then somewhere else. And where there were walls, there was someone willing and able to drill a hole and take a peek.

Cagalli sighed, willing herself to calm down. She was about as a secure as she could be anywhere, at least for the moment. Fashioned from a chunk of colony wall dropped from orbit for the purpose, the Giga Float was primarily a giant floating mass driver. It had been constructed for the Earth Alliance, but in practice it was administrated by the Junk Guild. Constantly moving through international waters, it belonged to everyone, and could be used by anyone, so long as they could pay the fees.

It was also a hotbed of espionage and shady goings-on. If they could not control the Giga Float, the governments of the Earth Sphere were determined to know who was passing through, going where, and doing what. Spies aside, it was a very convenient place to engage in semi or entirely illegal transactions. There were certain things the Junk Guild would not tolerate, such as human trafficking, but otherwise they looked the other way.

Cagalli wasn't entirely comfortable with it, but it was one of very places on Earth where she could do what she needed to do. For one, it was the only place where the Junk Guild could tune up the ship _and _stock it with ammunition for the battles to come. Berthed in one of the internal docks, the _Archangel _was invisible to the Atlantic Federation's satellites in any case. By the time their spies managed to get a message out, the _Archangel _would be long gone, as would any evidence of its being there.

She hoped.

Realising that she was procrastinating, Cagalli sat down in the chair facing the comm screen. It was a matter of a few moments to bring up planetary communication, key in the secret code, and send the request. The reply would not be long in coming, not with a request on _that _channel.

Sure enough, the reply came. Cagalli keyed to open the channel, and the face of a young woman appeared on the screen.

"Cagalli?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Is that you?"

"Charlotte." Cagalli felt herself relax a little. The face staring out of the screen at her was familiar, though somewhat older than she remembered. That was no surprise, for she hadn't seen her old classmate for three years. "How are you?"

"Well…" The question seemed to catch her off-guard. It was only then that Cagalli saw the stress-lines around her eyes. "About as well as can be expected. But I never expected to hear from you."

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything," Cagalli said diplomatically. "You're probably very busy right now."

"Just a bit," Charlotte snarked mildly, making Cagalli squirm. "But I know you wouldn't be calling me unless it was important."

Cagalli sighed. Though they had attended the same Swiss finishing school for several years, she and the King of Great Britain's youngest daughter had not exactly been friends, despite a certainly family tie. Cagalli had been rebellious and bad-tempered, hating the frilly, flouncy uniform and constantly having to behave like a lady. Charlotte had been prim and hard-nosed, never putting a foot wrong yet always ready with a waspish comment. Cagalli had been the class troublemaker; Charlotte had been the student council morals officer.

Such a combination did not make for cordial relations, let alone friendship. Yet on the day the school was closed, and the other girls had wept, twittered, and hugged, she had been the only one Cagalli felt like saying goodbye to. Charlotte had been the nearest thing she had to a friend.

And vice versa.

"It is important," Cagalli admitted. "We're talking _fate of the world _important."

"I take it that's why you almost married that greasy little man," Charlotte said sourly. "Good God Cagalli, what the _hell _were you thinking? Father worried himself half to death, and if Elana were alive…"

"Don't lecture me!" Cagalli snapped. "You think I don't know?! You think I can't see what I almost did?! And don't you dare bring my aunt into this!"

There was an awkward pause. Cagalli slumped as the anger faded; she was too tired to sustain it.

"I'm sorry Charlotte."

"No, I'm sorry." The reply took Cagalli by surprise. It was probably the nicest thing Charlotte had said to her since they were seven. "I know you've been through hell, what with all this wretched warmongering going on. No one else seems interested in stopping it."

"That's actually why I'm calling, Charlotte." Cagalli braced herself. "Even if all I have is the _Archangel _and my friends, I have to keep on trying."

"What _exactly _do you want me to do?"

"Just tell me what's going on. How is the government reacting? The public? Anything you can tell me."

Charlotte sighed, and Cagalli began to dread her answer.

"Not long after your wedding, a rumour got out that the Federation was reinforcing Iceland. It caused a terrible stir. People have started leaving."

"What are the government doing about it?" Cagalli felt her heart sink. If the Atlantic Federation was moving additional forces to Iceland, that meant only one thing.

"Getting more and more obstinate," Charlotte replied. "They seem determined to go through with the secession."

"I can't believe it!" Cagalli exclaimed. "The _whole _government?"

"Not all of them, but enough. Half the House of Commons are screaming for unconditional surrender, but the government has the armed forces and the PMCs on side, or so I heard the Prime Minister boasting last week. If they decide to go, there's no one who can stop them."

"What about your father, the King?" Cagalli pleaded desperately. "If he spoke out, people would listen!"

"Cagalli, you _know _that's not how things are done." Charlotte sighed. "Besides, I'm not sure the public cares either way."

"If they don't care," Cagalli retorted, "then who were those people on the news?"

She had seen a news broadcast during the voyage from Orb. She had seen the crowds parading in the streets, with their placards and banners. Most proclaimed secession, while one or two held slogans in support of the PLANTs, Eurasia, and even Orb. The reports had also shown counter-demonstrations by pro-Atlantic Federation groups, apparently for the entertainment value.

"You've been watching the news, Cagalli." Charlotte gave her a patient look. "Did they bother to do any interviews, or ask who they were?"

"You're saying those demonstrations were fake?"

"No they were real, but a lot of the demonstrators were in the country on tourist visas."

Cagalli was surprised, and worried. She had known that people were getting involved, but not on that kind of scale. To any casual onlooker, it would seem as if thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people from all over the world had travelled to Britain because they wanted it to secede from the Atlantic Federation.

It made no sense. Britain was a forgotten backwater, a minor state that kept itself solvent selling weapons and providing mercenaries. There were plenty of small countries in that situation, but their means of survival did not make them popular with the chattering classes. To her annoyance, even Orb was sometimes lumped in with the so-called 'warmonger states' in the court of public opinion.

Whatever had brought those people there, it couldn't have been sympathy. The sort of people who tried to change the world by parading around waving placards would not have much truck with a country like Britain.

So what was it? And why was the government so convinced that it could win?

Or that it had no choice?

Cagalli swallowed, as a cold lump formed in the bottom of her stomach.

"Charlotte," she said. "Who are those people?"

"Cagalli…"

"_Please _Charlotte!" Cagalli wailed, though she feared she already knew. "If you know something, _anything_, I _have _to know!"

"Cagalli…" Charlotte was visibly trying to master herself. "Cagalli, people took considerable risks in telling me what I know. If their identities were to be known…"

"_Please_!" Cagalli felt tears prick at her eyes. Charlotte sighed, and Cagalli saw fear and shame in her eyes.

"Some of them…are soldiers, Cagalli." Her voice was hoarse. "Special forces."

Cagalli felt her entire being drop like a stone. She had feared it, suspected it, but somehow hearing it from her lips made it ten times worse.

"Who?" she forced herself to ask. "Who sent them? Where are they from?"

"I don't know, Cagalli." Charlotte looked miserable. "I honestly don't know. I'm not entirely sure the government knows. But they daren't let the Atlantic Federation occupy this country. They know what'll happen to them if they're found out."

"Yes, you're right."

Cagalli felt sick. The most likely source of the secret troops was Eurasia, but that just meant they had been involved all along. There were other powers with scores to settle, notably South America, but a humiliated and raging Atlantic Federation was not in their interests. That left only one likely candidate.

"Charlotte, I need you to do something for me." She knew now what she had to do.

"Anything."

"Tell your father, tell the Prime Minister, tell anyone you can. Ask them to hold off on the secession until I arrive."

"Well…" Charlotte looked dubious. "How long will that take?"

"A week, maybe two."

"That's not good Cagalli. They waited a month when you offered Orb's fleet. What have you this time?"

"Tell them…" Cagalli drew herself up. "Tell them I'm bringing the _Archangel _and the _Freedom_."

Charlotte looked impressed. The _Archangel _alone was not to be sneezed at, but the _Freedom _too would be enough to convince anyone. She didn't bother to mention the _Strike Rouge, _or the other mobile suit they were picking up on the Giga Float. It would merely detract from the effect.

"I'll tell them Cagalli. I can't promise anything, but it might be enough to convince them. If not, I'll hold them as long as I can."

"Thank you, _Lola_." Cagalli felt tears rising as the old nickname slipped out. Charlotte chuckled.

"It's the least I can do, _Lali._"

* * *

_**Aprilius One PLANT, Lagrange 5**_

"_Excellent,_" Gilbert Durandal thought, as the open-topped limousine glided along the boulevard. "_If I say so myself._"

It had gone very well. Very well indeed. A part of him had feared that something would go wrong, considering how quickly everything had been organised and prepared. But the welcome ceremonies had thus far gone without a hitch.

As the motorcade proceeded along the main boulevard, Durandal glanced at the crowds thronging the streets to his left. A sea of smiling faces greeted him, mouths open to cheer and shout greetings. The citizens waved flags, some the green and red of the PLANTs, others the purple of Jupiter. Some carried placards and banners, emblazoned with messages of welcome. Some of them were rather…explicit.

If the young man seated next to him had noticed, he made no show of it. Durandal acknowledged the cheering crowds with a wave, then glanced to his right. Prince Daniel was holding up well, remarkably well for one so young, as he smiled and waved at the happy throng.

"_Very good,_" Durandal thought, allow his smile to widen _just _a little. That had been another potential problem. He had feared that the PLANT public might not take too well to their royal visitor, or that someone might pull a stunt. His fears had, thankfully, been for naught.

"I trust your highness enjoyed the city's welcome?" he said, not _too _unctuously. "It was the best we could do at such short notice."

"If it there was short notice, the fault was entirely mine," Daniel replied, smiling. "Your people honour me with their greeting."

"Thank you for your kind words."

It was the usual spiel, an occasionally irritating but generally harmless necessity. Besides, he couldn't just say what he wanted to say straight off. Such things required careful timing, and the time was _just…about…right. _

"Your highness may recall our meeting in Carpentaria," he said, keeping up the tempo of glancing, smiling, and waving. "Have you given thought to our request?"

"I have." Daniel did likewise. "I would be pleased to grant your request."

"I am _very _glad to hear it." Durandal gave Daniel a wide smile. "As it happens, I'm holding a gathering for a few, shall we say, _friends_ tonight. I was wondering if you would give us an exclusive preview. Your entourage is invited, of course."

"I would be happy to." If Daniel was in any way unsettled or suspicious, he made no show of it. Not that he had anything to be suspicious about. Nothing much, anyway.

"Regarding that, your highness." Now was the time. "I wonder if you would care to join me in…a small intrigue?"

"A small intrigue, Chairman?"

"A…rather special guestwill be present at the event tonight," Durandal explained, his inner smile widening. "She has been absent from the PLANTs for some time, and has only just returned. The other guests are aware of this, but we're keeping this hush-hush for the moment. I would be most grateful if you and your party could do likewise until our preparations are complete."

"By all means, Chairman." Daniel's smile was that of an innocent young boy. "Please be assured of our discretion."

"I am most grateful, your highness."

Durandal relaxed in his seat, resisting the urge to grin like the Cheshire cat.

"_Very good. Very good indeed._"

All at once the motorcade had reached the Supreme Council building. Chairman and Prince stepped out of their limousine as it drew in front of the main entrance, then paused a few moments to greet a deputation from the Supreme Council itself. Once the greetings were done, and the other cars had deposited the rest of their respective entourages, Durandal led Daniel into the building. A formation of honour guards snapped to attention, their rifles held at present arms, as they passed.

"You must be tired after your journey, your highness," Durandal said fulsomely, as soon as they had passed the honour guard. "We have a little time before dinner, so I wondered if you and your companions would accept my hospitality in my private chambers?"

"I would be happy to, Chairman."

Smiling, Durandal led Daniel and his three companions away from the main group. Behind them, Ricardo Orff and Takao Schreiber took charge of the other guests, leading them into the main lounge where refreshments awaited. Durandal knew he was risking a _faux-pas _by taking Daniel aside so early in the proceedings, but he wasn't concerned. He was the chief host, but the Supreme Council members were more than important enough to cover for him. Besides, Daniel _was _the guest of honour, so it wasn't _exactly _rude to take him aside for a while.

Besides, any loss of face was nothing compared to the coup that awaited him in the chambers a little way along the corridor.

* * *

Daniel felt himself relax.

The arrival seemed to have gone well, at least as far as he could tell. The crowds had been brimming over with enthusiasm, and the PLANT dignitaries had been suitably welcoming. He was particularly touched by the attention of Gilbert Durandal, especially after what had happened in Orb.

He had been worried about that. It had haunted him, from when he had woken up on board the _Minerva _to their arrival in Carpentaria. He certainly hadn't expected a formal welcome there, or for Durandal to be so…_forgiving_.

There had been no alternative, of course. Durandal would have wanted an explanation sooner or later, and he was never going to believe that the Orb government had simply double-crossed them, not after making a declaration of friendship. Besides, the Chairman had pretty much figured it out on his own. That, or he had some _very _well-placed spies inside the Orb government and Morgenroete.

"I must confess, mister Chairman, I was worried," he said, glancing up at the much taller Durandal. "I was afraid the people might have learned of our…conduct in Orb."

"Even if they did, there is no cause for concern," Durandal replied warmly. "Politics and diplomacy, nothing more."

"Even so," Daniel went on. For all the comfort Durandal offered, he just couldn't bring himself to let go of the guilt he felt. "After what we gave them."

"At the moment, Orb isn't _exactly _an enemy," Durandal explained. "And besides, they double-crossed you first, which gets you the sympathy vote."

"I suppose." Daniel could hear the footsteps of his friends behind him. He felt their concentration, their suspicion. He felt a twinge of guilt over the pain he had caused them, over the risks they had taken to protect him, to bring him to the _Minerva. _He wished there had been more time on the journey from Carpentaria; time to talk, time to apologise, time to remind them of what they meant to him.

Of what they had always meant to him.

"And here we are." They reached a wood-panelled double-door at the end of the corridor, flanked by green-uniformed ZAFT guards. The two men snapped to attention and saluted as the party approached. Durandal acknowledged them with a nod, and they opened the doors.

The room beyond was large, and sparsely but tastefully furnished. A long desk dominated the opposite end of the room, while a sofa and a pair of armchairs stood either side of a narrow coffee table in the centre. The walls were decorated with paintings and vid-screens, and a series of plinths were arranged here and there around the room. Upon each stood some sort of four-legged machine, contained in a transparent cell that reached up to the ceiling.

"I forgot to say," the Chairman said, as he stepped inside and bade his guests follow. "A certain someone will be joining us."

Daniel was momentarily confused as he stepped past Durandal into the room, wondering what he meant.

Then he saw her.

She was seated on the sofa, side-on to the door. Her hair was very long, and to Daniel's surprise it was bright pink. He was still growing accustomed to the strange hair colours that were so common in the Earth Sphere. She turned her head as they entered, and their eyes met.

Daniel was entranced. He knew he was staring at her, but he couldn't help himself. Those wide blue eyes, that gentle, startled air, that face…

"Your royal highness." Durandal's smile was positively vulpine as the young girl stood up. Her figure was a perfect, wide-hipped hourglass, complimented by the flowing purple skirt of her gown. The bodice was white, with a high, wide collar reaching her chin, which had the curious effect of drawing attention to her face. Her hands were clasped demurely in front, emerging from the purple frills that decorated her cuffs. A golden ornament in the shape of a star decorated her hairline above her left eye.

"I have the pleasure to present one of our most prominent citizens," Durandal said. "Miss Lacus Clyne."

Was this the voice that had soothed his troubled heart on all those lonely nights? Had those angelic words come from that soft, delicate throat? Had her eyes sparkled as she sang them, the way they sparkled now?

"Your highness." The angel half-bowed, in the same fashion as he had seen in Orb. "I'm so glad to meet you at last."

It was her. It was her voice. He had found her at last.

"Miss Clyne," Durandal continued. "I present…"

"Daniel Scirocco." It took all of his self-control to match her bow in the proper way. "I..." The words caught in his throat. Daniel felt the blood rush to his head as he tried to clear his mind. Sentences ran through his mind, each one sounding ever more stupid and pathetic than the last.

"I mean to say," he went on, trying desperately to sound gracious. "I have wanted to meet you…for a very long time."

Deep inside, he screamed in utter despair. He could think of nothing that sounded more dull, awkward, indelicate, tasteless even. He was making a fool of himself, and it could only get worse.

He forced himself to look up, to look her in the face and bear the embarrassment. Would she laugh at him? Would she be angry? Disgusted?

She was none of those things. Daniel's heart skipped a beat as he saw the pink cheeks, those beautiful eyes cast downward, that awkward, nervous smile.

"Forgive me," he managed to say, finding a little of his courage. "I've made you uncomfortable."

"Oh no, not at all!" The nympth's face reddened as she brought her hands to her mouth. "I fear I'm the one making you uncomfortable, your highness."

Behind Daniel, Hannon, Ninin, and Damien looked at one-another in stunned disbelief.

* * *

_**Later that night**_

Athrun was nervous.

He hadn't expected to be invited to the Chairman's private event. He hadn't even known it was happening until one of his flunkies had shown up with the invitation. He hadn't particularly wanted to go either. He had spent a hard day testing the _Saviour, _and a night spent surrounded by Durandal's political and military allies was bound to be awkward.

Especially since _he _would be there.

But it was a formal invitation, in the Chairman's own hand and carrying his signature. He could hardly refuse.

And so there he was, wearing an uncomfortable formal suit, trying to ignore the supposedly atmospheric music playing in the background, his stomach looping the loop every few seconds, in the presence of Evidence 01.

He would never get used to that thing. Not like this. Not standing on the gleaming floor of the chamber, the massive slab of rock looming over him like a carved shard of creation. He had grown and changed, and not entirely for the better, since last he had seen it. But every time he gazed up at that great edifice, he became that little boy standing beside his mother, seeing it for the first time.

Evidence 01.

There wasn't another like it in the Earth Sphere, nor in all human knowledge. It was the treasure of the PLANTs, the trophy brought back by George Glenn from the moons of Jupiter. They called it the winged whale, for its skeleton looked vaguely like that of a whale, with two long appendages that might be called wings. It was the first, and thus far only, proof of any kind of multicellular life beyond the Earth.

Athrun almost wanted to burst out laughing, in spite of the old awe. The pride and hope of the Coordinators, the symbol of the destiny his father had chosen for them, all of it a lie.

Well, not _entirely _a lie. Just because he had neglected to mention the Jovians, that didn't mean the fossil _itself _was fake. Did it? Surely that truth could remain, couldn't it?

Perhaps it could. Perhaps that was why Durandal had chosen to hold his little get-together in the Evidence 01 chamber. Perhaps he had another revelation waiting to impress his guests.

And what guests. Wandering among the clusters of expensively-dressed higher-ups, Athrun had marvelled at the array of fashions and styles on display. PLANT fashions tended towards the conservative, at least among the elite. Most of the men were in uniform, that of ZAFT or the administration, as were many of the women. It was the women not in uniform who stood out, in those long, flowing hoop skirts that were so popular among high-status women throughout the Earth Sphere.

Seeing them reminded him of Lacus, back during the war, when she was still his fiancée. He pictured her gliding across the mirror-polished floor, her gown barely rustling, her soft, white hands clasped demurely in front. He could see her moving from cluster to cluster, meeting, greeting, and conversing with that effortless grace that had captured countless hearts. She would have been so at home at an event like this.

Would it have been that way if the Jovians had come sooner, back when the war was still on? Would she have graced that same floor, charming Jovian guests while his father poured poison in their ears? Would he have been there, in his proud red coat, his arm linked with hers?

The melancholy thoughts were put aside, as Athrun took in the others present. This was not just a PLANT gathering; a veritable cornucopia of fashions vied for his attention around the chamber. He saw flowing robes, embroidered caftans, gossamer silks, elaborate head-dresses, glittering ornaments. Some of them he recognized as coming from the African Community and the Oceania Federation; their presence was no great surprise. But there were others he had never seen in the PLANTs before, though he recognized them.

"_Eurasia…_" he thought. "_They're here already._"

Whatever Durandal's plan was, it was accelerating. If the Atlantic Federation found out that Eurasian representatives had attended a private event in Aprilius One, there would be the devil to pay. Athrun couldn't shake the horrible feeling that it was exactly what the Chairman wanted.

Deciding that he should introduced himself, Athrun glanced around for Durandal. After a few moments he spotted the Chairman, surrounded by a loose cluster of flunkies and guests. He saw the Jovians there too, in their distinctive dark blue uniforms. As he drew closer he could make out the senior officers of the _Jovian Dawn_, Captain Juno Moneta chief among them. He saw Daniel in the middle of a conversation with Durandal, with a young woman on his arm.

Athrun's breath caught in his throat as he saw her. For a moment he thought he was mistaken, but it was definitely Meer Campbell, standing right next to Daniel, her right arm hooked through his left.

He cleared his throat. This wasn't something he could turn away from, not now.

"Ah!" Gilbert Durandal proclaimed, with apparent happiness, as he saw Athrun draw near. "So good of you to come." He gestured for Athrun to come closer, while spreading his other hand to present Daniel and Meer.

"I'm so glad you came, Athrun!" Meer was smiling, apparently pleased to see him. "Prince, this is Athrun Zala, whom you last met as Alex Dino."

"Miss Clyne has explained the situation to me," Daniel said, also smiling, as he extended his right hand.

"I am most relieved, your highness," Athrun replied decorously, bowing his head as he shook the proffered hand. He had only just arrived, but the formal speech was already starting to irritate him. A flash of gold drew his attention to Daniel's left hand, held up over his belt.

His heart skipped a beat as he saw the signet ring upon the little finger, and the symbol upon it.

"Is something wrong?" Daniel asked, noticing his reaction.

"That ring…" Athrun blurted out, before he could stop himself. He glanced at Meer, saw the quizzical look on her face. It was only then that he saw what she was wearing.

"_No!_" a voice inside him screamed. "_That's Lacus' dress! Why are you wearing it!? You fraud!_"

"Oh, yes." Daniel raised his hand to examine the ring, a strangely melancholy look in his eyes. "I thought you had heard."

"Oh yes," Athrun growled. "I heard all right." He could hear the mutterings around him, but he was too bitter, too angry, to be respectful. He was bitter at Cagalli for dumping him without so much as a _Dear John _letter. He was angry with the two interlopersin front of him for riding roughshod over his life.

Angry with himself with following without a word.

"Mister Athrun." Athrun's anger faded a little as he saw the shame in Daniel's eyes. "Please understand…" He faltered.

"I fear there may have been a misunderstanding," Durandal interjected, with perfect timing. "Athrun has been engaged in secret work ever since the formal announcement. It's possible he hasn't heard of recent events."

That was true. Since he had signed up as a test pilot, just over a fortnight earlier, Athrun had spent his entire time with the _Saviour, _at one of ZAFT's secure testing stations. He had put the machine through its paces, subjecting it to every trick, every trial he could think of. It had outperformed his expectations, in _every _way. SO much so, he had begun to worry about how much he was _enjoying _the work.

The upshot had been that he was out of circulation. Communications with the secure areas were strictly controlled, meaning he hadn't had an opportunity to catch up on what was going on out in the Earth Sphere. At the time, he hadn't even wanted to.

"Oh no wonder!" Meer giggled behind her free hand. The sound sucked the anger out of Athrun, and replaced it with embarrassment. It made him feel like a clumsy, awkward schoolboy trying to talk to the cheer captain, with the entire squad looking on.

"What…exactly happened?" he asked, trying to master himself.

"It was _so _exciting!" proclaimed a giddy Meer. "The _Freedom _flew in and stole her away!"

"It _what_!?" Athrun's mouth dropped open. The _Freedom_? Kira? What was going on?

* * *

"You _sure _nothing's going on?!" Damien snarled, his eyes fixed on Athrun. "Even _I _felt that last one!"

"It's okay," Ninin insisted, her eyes closed in concentration. "He's not gonna do anything. He's just really, _really _angry."

"With Prince Daniel?" Hannon asked suspiciously.

"A little. But…there's something else." Ninin's brow furrowed, and Damien and Hannon both shivered as they felt her power rise. "He's sad…so very sad."

"In what way?" asked Captain Juno Moneta. Like the other officers she was clustered around the trio, eyes fixed on Ninin. They knew of her power, and knew to keep it hidden. To any outside observer they would seem to be conspiring in a group, just like everyone else.

"It feels like…he lost someone," Ninin went on. "Someone precious to him. There's…betrayal, and fear too."

"Betrayal," Juno mused. "So…he and the Chief Representative were lovers after all."

"So what!?" Damien growled. "That's no reason to blame it on Daniel!"

"Isn't it?" Hannon interjected, his countenance dark. "He _did _almost give her away."

"Enough," Juno ordered, her voice quiet, but enough to end the argument. "Ensign Pulu-Lemo, what else do you sense?"

"Oh, the usual." Ninin visibly relaxed. "Suspicion, avarice, curiosity, lust; as I said, the usual."

"I meant from…that girl." Juno's eyes were hard and suspicious. Damien was surprised by it. Moneta was a fighting officer, a survivor of the Ionian War. She had been captain of a warship in the year he and Hannon were born. As a captain she had a reputation as the firm-but-fair type, and she had kept a tight ship on the _Jovian Dawn_. Damien had been on the receiving end of her discipline more than once, and knew how unyielding it could be.

But this wasn't like her. Damien had never seen her so on edge. Come to think of it, she had been like that ever since they had briefly returned to the _Jovian Dawn _the day before. It couldn't have been leftover stress from the crisis with Orb; she had dealt with far worse in her time.

Was she…_worried _about Daniel? Did she have something against that mysterious girl who claimed to be Lacus Clyne?

"Her?" Ninin shrugged. "She's hiding something. Just like everyone else in here."  
"Kindly refrain from facetiousness, Ensign Pulu-Lemo," the captain growled.

"_She's definitely worried,_" Damien thought. Her eyes were hard and guarded, more so than he had ever seen them. But his eyes were inexorably drawn to those high cheekbones, that finely-tapering chin, the small, slightly turned-up nose, those round green eyes.

So familiar. So very familiar.

* * *

Daniel's heart hammered in his chest as he followed Durandal up the dais steps. On the floor below, the rumble of conversation faded as the guests noticed. He could feel their eyes upon him as he took up position alongside the Chairman. Lacus was at his side, her proximity making him even more nervous.

Soon it would be his…no, _their _turn. The creation he was about to display was as much her work as his. In truth, all he had done was provide the archive footage and oversee the graphics team provided by Durandal. Their enthusiasm had been as infectious as their artistry was inspiring.

But it would have been nothing without the music Lacus had provided. _Her _music.

"May I have your attention?" Durandal's voice, amplified by the hidden microphones set into the podium, carried easily around the vast chamber. The last mutterings of conversation fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Daniel took a breath, slowing his heart as he had been taught.

"Members of the Diplomatic Corps, distinguished colleagues, honoured guests. It is with great pride and joy that I welcome you all to this place." The words came out as smooth as silk, yet heavy with gravitas.

"Some of you may wonder why I chose this place to host our gathering. For so many years, this place was all but forbidden, a place kept by those of small mind and fearful heart for the Coordinators of the PLANTs only. To do so, I firmly believe, was to degrade and obscure this place's true meaning." He paused for effect.

"To me, my friends, this is a place for both past and future, for hope and for remembrance, for friends both old and new. This great relic," he gestured up at the giant fossil "was brought to us by George Glenn, in a time of great hope, but also of great upheaval. For we who were born Coordinators, this relic will always carry a special significance, for it was in those times that our kind first came into being." Another pause.

"But we cannot monopolise it any longer," he went on. "George Glenn intended his legacy to be the treasure of all humanity, not merely of the genetically enhanced. It is my profound hope that this gathering, of old friends and new, will mark the beginning of a new era."

The audience broke into thunderous applause. Daniel found himself applauding along with them, touched to the heart by the conviction in his words.

"But there is another, more specific reason why I have chosen this place as our venue tonight. The arrival of our Jovian cousins has raised many profound questions regarding the legacy of George Glenn. To answer them, I present our guest of honour." He gestured to Daniel. "His Royal Highness, Prince Daniel."

There was more applause as Durandal stepped away from the podium. His legs turning to jelly, Daniel glanced back at Lacus. She was smiling, her eyes full of hope and expectation. The sight of her was the nudge he needed, but it took all his willpower to make himself stride to the podium.

"In these last weeks upon the Earth," he began, enunciating carefully so as to give himself time to think, "I have met with representatives of many governments and organisations. Some have been welcoming, others less so." He paused, scanning his eyes over the guests for their reactions. He sensed discontent, though whether it was aimed at him he could not say.

"In many of the private letters and correspondences that have come to me, one question stands out above all others. They ask me, _why didn't George Glenn tell us about your people? Why did he lie?_" He paused again, and he could sense the shift in the atmosphere. His words were unsettling to them, but what he took to be their desire to hear the answer was far stronger. He only hoped he was interpreting them correctly.

"This question I must answer here and now. George Glenn concealed our existence from you because we asked it of him." A rumble from the audience.

"I am sorry to say that in those times, our isolation in the void had made us fearful. It was the fear of our people that some terrible power had arisen to dominate the Earth, and that they would seek to destroy us. It was for that reason that my grandfather, Solomon Zeus, made his request. In return for his promise, and in gratitude for his many assistances to us, Solomon gave George Glenn this relic, a treasure of his house. It was their shared hope that our people would one day find their strength, and that they would be able to seek out the Earth and meet with its people, to stand beside them as equals, and as friends. To stand here before you, to be welcomed among you, is proof to me that their hope is very much alive. To all of you, and all the peoples you represent, I thank you with all my heart."

Daniel felt warm satisfaction as the guests applauded. Durandal had been right, a little flattery never hurt.

But then he glanced sideways, driven by some unanswerable compulsion. He saw Lacus' face as she clapped, the admiration and joy emanating from it like golden sunlight. All the adulation of all the world could not have compared to it.

"As a show of our ardent hope, I have, with the kind help of Miss Lacus Clyne and Chairman Durandal, overseen the creation of a special presentation. I dedicate it to them, to all of you, and to all the peoples of the Earth Sphere." There was more applause as Daniel glanced down at the podium. The controls were as the technicians had described, thank heaven.

With the touch of a button, the lights turned down, lowering the chamber gently into darkness. The air above the guests began to shimmer, like sunlight shone through water. Daniel felt a shiver of excitement as he saw it, amazed both by the sophistication of the hologram technology and the skill of the technicians who operated it. Durandal had promised the best, and had evidently given the best.

An instrumental version of Lacus' _Mizu no Akashi _began to play, the music melding perfectly with the visual effects. It was better than he could have thought possible.

"The fossil before you was found in the depths of Europa's oceans, over a hundred years ago, by a mining operation." He didn't know if the guests could hear a single word, but it didn't matter. "It is a distant relation to the modern Europan whale."

Right on cue, as the music began its main movement, an enormous shape emerged from Evidence 01. A gasp went up from the crowd as the holographic whale slid out into the empty air, its distinctive 'wings' undulating as it cut through the illusionary waters.

"We have identified twelve distinct species of whale," Daniel went on, his nerves tingling with excitement. "And we have learnt much of their behaviour and natures. They have a great deal in common with Terran whales. One of the first things we learnt was that they were broadly mammalian."

As he spoke, a smaller whale emerged from the fossil and swam towards the first whale, which was 'swimming' through the air over the crowd.

"Like Terran whales, Europan whales give birth to live young, and nurse them for a long time." An _ohhhh_ went up from the guests as the calf nuzzled up to its mother. Daniel could feel their excitement, their wonder, their joy. It was enough to make him forget the trials he had endured, the pain he had suffered, the worry he had caused his friends. He felt warm inside as he remembered the first time he'd ever seen a whale, in a diving capsule with his father, so many years ago. He remembered seeing that very same mother whale and her calf, and the strange feeling the sight had elicited in his child self.

"Europan whales are also social, at times moving in large packs and at other times alone. They communicate through sound." He pressed a button, and a long, keening cry cut through the sounds of the chamber. Daniel took the opportunity to glance at Lacus again. She was gazing up at the whale, hands clasped over her substantial bosom, bright with almost child-like joy.

And on his other side, Gilbert Durandal watched with a broad smile on his face.

"_Very good. Very good indeed._"

* * *

**Wow, that took some doing. **

**I understand if you're starting to get bored with all this talk. If this chapter seems to be rushing things, that's pretty much why. I need to get this stuff done in order to set up some character development later, but I confess I'm longing for some action scenes.**

**A couple of small points. Firstly, I decided to retcon that part about the King of GB being Cagalli's uncle. It seemed a bit much, and I realised that it didn't quite fit the timeframe. To clear that up, her aunt Elana was the older sister of her adoptive father Uzumi nara Athha, and she married Charlotte's eldest brother. **

**Secondly, regarding Evidence 01. When I first planned this fic, I knew I would have to explain the whale fossil sooner or later. The idea I eventually lighted on was of it being a fossil of a creature that lived under Europa's ice. I thought it reasonable to call it a whale because it is referred-to as such by characters in the series, meaning that the colonists who first encountered these creatures would likely reach the same conclusion. As for its biology, I understand that I'm taking a risk by adding the distinctly mammalian features of live birth and nursing, but it didn't seem unreasonable. **

**For the next chapter, I'm hoping to be able to get to the war you all know is coming (it wouldn't be Gundam otherwise). Though Athrun and Cagalli are thousands of miles apart, they will both be caught up in it, for reasons that are not so different. In the face of treachery, and of desperate courage, Daniel will face the hardest test of his life. **


End file.
